Eternal Fire
by InfinityStar
Summary: With his mother's terminal diagnosis, Goren's life began to come apart at the seams. Just when he is on the verge of pulling it back together, another blow threatens to destroy him for good. Can Eames hold him together this time?
1. Total Eclipse of the Heart

**_Blaze with the fire that is never extinguished. ----Luisa Sigea_**

* * *

_This takes place immediately after the last scene in Smile..._

The ride back to headquarters was silent. Usually they discussed what transpired, unless one of them was upset, and this time, Goren had shut down entirely. _It's too late... _

She really thought that he had destroyed any aspirations she had toward the captaincy or beyond, just by being her partner. He had no idea how to respond to that, or what to think about it. All he knew was that he hurt, and although it was a familiar pain, he was really getting tired of it. Somewhere along the way over the past year, his entire life had derailed and he had no idea how to clean up the train wreck it had become. He'd thought he and Eames were doing better. Obviously, he was wrong.

When they got back to headquarters, Eames turned toward him as if to say something, but he got out of the car before she could say a word and headed for the elevator. He heard her call his name, but he ignored her. Screw his manners...he just wanted to get done with what he had to do and go home. He didn't want to talk. Not right now.

He was already at his desk, plowing through paperwork when she got to her desk. "Bobby?"

He didn't answer right away, or even acknowledge the fact that he'd heard her. When she called his name a second time, he swallowed hard and, fighting to keep his expression neutral, looked up. "What is it, Eames?"

He was impressed at how even his voice sounded. She studied him and leaned over her desk toward him. "You have to understand..."

He waved a hand. "I do understand. Forget it. I really don't want to discuss it."

"But..."

"I _said_...forget it."

He turned back to his work, determined to get it done as quickly as he could so he could get the hell out of there. The last thing he wanted was for the entire squad to be witness to another blow up between him and his partner. Ignoring her, he finished the forms, signed what he had to and shoved the ones needing her signature onto her desk.

She looked up from her own paperwork "Are you going to book Leslie?"

"No," he answered shortly. "I'm done for the day."

"So you expect me...?"

He finally met her eyes. "No," he interrupted, which was uncharacteristically rude for him. "I don't expect anything from you anymore, Eames."

That time he had been unable to hide his pain, and he knew he had to get out of there. He grabbed his binder and headed for the elevators. Sensing she would follow him, he changed course in mid-stride and slammed open the stairwell door. He wasn't wrong. He heard her call to him as he rounded the ninth floor landing. He moved faster.

He got to his car, started it and backed out of the spot. Slamming the transmission into drive, he headed out of the garage, glancing once in the rearview mirror as Eames ran out of the stairwell. He wasn't surprised when his phone rang, and he ignored it. He also made up his mind not to go home, and he headed his car uptown from his apartment. There was only one person he knew who could help him, and he silently prayed she wouldn't turn him away.

_Turnaround, every now and then I get a little bit lonely and you're never coming around  
Turnaround, every now and then I get a little bit tired of listening to the sound of my tears  
Turnaround, every now and then I get a little bit nervous that the best of all the years have gone by  
Turnaround, every now and then I get a little bit terrified and then I see the look in your eyes  
Turnaround, bright eyes, every now and then I fall apart  
Turnaround, bright eyes, every now and then I fall apart  
Turnaround, every now and then I get a little bit restless and I dream of something wild  
Turnaround, every now and then I get a little bit helpless and I'm lying like a child in your arms  
Turnaround, every now and then I gt a little bit angry and I know I've got to get out and cry  
Turnaround, every now and then I get a little bit terrified but then I see the look in your eyes_

_Turnaround, bright eyes, Every now and then I fall apart  
Turnaround, bright eyes, every now and then I fall apart_

She stepped out of the shower and toweled off before heading into her bedroom. Just as she pulled the oversized sweatshirt over her head, the door buzzer sounded. She frowned. She wasn't expecting anyone. All she wanted was to spend a nice quiet evening at home, undisturbed by the chief or anyone else. Was that too much to ask?

Pulling the door open, she was very surprised to see the man who stood there, leaning against the wall beside the door. He gave her a sad smile. "I'll leave if you want me to," he said quietly. "But...I...I really need you."

She studied him for a long moment, seeing the pain he made no attempt to hide. She wasn't quite sure she'd heard him right. "Excuse me?"

He groaned softly, wondering if he'd made a mistake showing up on her doorstep, unannounced. No...it was a mistake showing up at all. "I'm sorry. I...I should have at least called. Never mind..."

He pushed away from the wall and began to head down the hall toward the elevators. "Bobby," she called softly.

He stopped, hesitated, then turned toward her, a silent question on his face. She could still see the raw emotion in his eyes. He was no longer hiding from her. "Say it again," she encouraged gently.

"I'm not playing games," he muttered, struggling to keep the emotion from his voice. "I-I need you...but..." He shrugged, defeated. "It doesn't matter."

"Yes, it does matter. You haven't needed me for a long time."

He looked at her in silence. "That's not true," he protested.

"Yes. It is." She watched him shift uncomfortably. "Something happened."

"Just...one more thing in a long line of events that have been unraveling my life, that's all. Good night, Denise."

The sight of his broad back as he walked away troubled her. "Don't."

He stopped, half turning toward her. "Don't? Don't what?"

"Don't take one step forward, then a giant leap backwards, Bobby." She motioned to him. "Come on, baby. Let's talk."

He watched her turn and head back into her apartment. He only hesitated a moment before following her.

_And I need you now tonight  
And I need you more than ever  
And if you'll only hold me tight  
We'll be holding on forever  
And we'll only be making it right  
Cause we'll never be wrong together  
We can take it to the end of the line  
Your love is like a shadow on me all of the time  
I don't know what to do and I'm always in the dark  
We're living in a powder keg and giving off sparks  
I really need you tonight  
Forever's gonna start tonight  
Forever's gonna start tonight_

_Once upon a time I was falling in love  
But now I'm only falling apart  
There's nothing I can do  
A total eclipse of the heart  
Once upon a time there was light in my life  
But now there's only love in the dark  
Nothing I can say  
A total eclipse of the heart_

She sat up in the dark. Beside her, he stirred, but he didn't waken. Reaching out, she lightly ran her fingers through his hair. In his sleep, he sought her, wrapping his arm around her waist and pressing his forehead into her side as she sat there. She stroked his head and gently rubbed his back. He sighed softly and his muscles relaxed under her fingers. If he'd been on the edge of another nightmare, it had slipped away without grabbing hold.

_Turnaround, bright eyes  
Turnaround, bright eyes  
Turnaround, every now and then I know you'll never be the boy you always wanted to be  
Turnaround, every now and then I know you'll always be the only boy who wanted me the way that I am  
Turnaround, every now and then I know there's no one in the universe as magical and wondrous as you  
Turnaround, every now and then I know there's nothing any better and there's nothing I wouldn't do  
Turnaround, bright eyes, every now and then I fall apart  
Turnaround, bright eyes, every now and then I fall apart_

She wondered if the man who had come to her that night was the reality or the illusion. His pain had been raw; his remorse seemed genuine. But in the light of day, would everything change? He had never been one to use her, but over the past year, he had transformed into a man she no longer knew. Could it be that he was rediscovering the man who'd gone away, the one she had fallen in love with years ago? Did she even dare to get her hopes up? She wasn't sure she could handle any more disappointment at his hands. If this was real, if he was truly back, then there was a chance for them. If not...She closed her eyes and swallowed a soft sob. If not, then this was the end. She would never do this again.

_And I need you now tonight  
And I need you more than ever  
And if you'll only hold me tight  
We'll be holding on forever  
And we'll only be making it right  
Cause we'll never be wrong together  
We can take it to the end of the line  
Your love is like a shadow on me all of the time  
I don't know what to do and I'm always in the dark  
We're living in a powder keg and giving off sparks  
I really need you tonight  
Forever's gonna start tonight  
Forever's gonna start tonight  
Once upon a time I was falling in love  
But now I'm only falling apart  
There's nothing I can do  
A total eclipse of the heart  
Once upon a time there was light in my life  
But now there's only love in the dark  
Nothing I can say  
A total eclipse of the heart_

* * *

**A/N: Total Eclipse of the Heart is by Bonnie Tyler.  
**


	2. Tightrope at the Edge of His Control

When Eames came into the squad room Monday morning, relief flooded through her at the sight of her partner sitting at his desk. After his abrupt departure Friday afternoon, she had tried to reach him all weekend, going as far as to find some excuse to be near his neighborhood so she could drop by his apartment. He was not home.

She sat down and pulled a file folder from its place, checking the contents once before handing it over to him. "You need to sign these."

He took the folder in silence, without looking at her face. She watched him open the folder, sign the forms and close it before handing it back and returning to his work. She sighed. "Bobby, we have to discuss this."

"No, we don't."

"Yes, we do," she insisted. "Now come on...unless you would rather hash this out right here, in the middle of the squad room, in front of God and everybody."

He didn't respond, but he stopped writing. Finally, he set down his pen, got to his feet and walked off. She followed him into a conference room, closing the door behind her. Folding her arms across her chest, she waited for him to turn to face her, which he did. She sighed. "I tried to get in touch with you all weekend," she said quietly. "You weren't home."

"No. I wasn't."

"Would it help if I apologized?"

"For what? For answering my question honestly?"

"Not honestly, Bobby. Harshly. Do you remember what I said when the mayor's drug task force was looking for officers?"

He nodded. "You said you didn't do the job for recognition."

"I still don't. But the Quinn case drove a lot of things home for me. I was...angry with you, for opening old wounds and rubbing salt in them."

He shook his head. "I never intended..."

"I know. I know. You never intended to hurt me. You were after justice. But justice comes in many forms, Bobby. Delgado deserved to be in jail."

"Maybe so, but not for Joe's murder. He didn't do it."

"Does everything have to be so black and white with you?"

He looked at her with the open face of a child trying to understand a concept that was alien to him. "I was just trying to do the right thing," he said softly.

She nodded. "I know. You always try to do the right thing, whether the rest of the world agrees with you or not. And that's the problem, Bobby. You don't just step on people's toes. You trample them. People look at you bull dozing your way through a case, and it all reflects on me, as the senior partner. I'm supposed to call the shots, but I give you your head and let you do whatever you have to do to get the bad guy. I wonder if that has been a mistake."

He looked at the floor and shifted uncomfortably. "Do you want another partner, Eames?"

When she didn't answer right away, he looked up, which was what she was waiting for. "No, Bobby. I don't want another partner. But I do want my partner to stop for a moment every once in awhile and reflect on how his actions impact the people around him. Sometimes I wonder if you really care about anyone, including yourself."

He took a deep breath, let it out slowly. "I do care. How does it make you feel, knowing we put the right men in jail for killing Joe and Kevin Quinn?"

"Honestly? I don't know. Drug dealers and gangsters deserve to be in jail. I'm not so sure I could say the same about doctors and children."

"So you would have men serve life sentences for crimes someone else got away with?"

"Come on, Goren. You know they've committed crimes several times over that would get them the same sentence!"

"That's not the point, Eames. Justice is about putting the right people in jail for the crimes they committed. We can't go around meting out our own brand of justice, or we're no better than the criminals we pursue. I'm sorry I hurt you. I never intended that. Never." He rested a hand over his chest. "And if you really think I am hurting your career..."

She raised a hand and he trailed off. "All I can do is damage control. But I'm not sure exactly what my ambitions are any more. I lost the best thing in my life when Joe died, and I never got that back. I've never come to terms with that, I guess." She sighed. "I'm not going to ask you to change who you are, Bobby. But a little consideration, as your partner, would be nice from time to time."

"I'm sorry," he answered, but she couldn't read him.

She was certain he was sorry, but she had no idea what he was really apologizing for. She studied him for a moment. "Where were you all weekend?"

"With a friend. Are we done now?"

"I guess so."

Without another word, he left the room and returned to his desk. She stayed there for a little while longer, reflecting on what she had said and how it had hurt him. Maybe he had not lost his caring heart after all.

She returned to her desk, wavering between remorse and vindication, not certain if either was what she should be feeling right now.

* * *

Danny Ross was beginning to wonder if there was any such thing as a good day any more. He did not regret going to bat for Goren in the Quinn case. He'd taken a gamble, based not only on his detective's record but on his own experience with Goren over the last year. It was, in his opinion, a sure bet. He had trusted Goren not only to be right about Sang's innocence but also to find the real perp. Goren had gone a step beyond and found Joe Dutton's real killer in the process. That had not gone over well with anyone, particularly with Eames. Ross wasn't sure what to make of that, but he trusted the partners to work it out, and it seemed that they had...until Friday.

He wasn't sure what had transpired, but he had a strong feeling something had happened. Goren seemed abnormally quiet; he blew through his paperwork and left the squadroom. What tipped him off to the fact that something was off was the way Eames took off after him and came back wearing a worried frown. But when he'd asked her, she assured him everything was fine. He didn't believe her but again, he trusted them to work it out. As usual, his trust was not misplaced. It was now Wednesday, and things between the two detectives seemed better.

As he sat reviewing Leslie LeZard's booking documents and the evidence against her, including the confession Goren had gotten, there was a knock on his door. He looked up to see Chief of Detectives Kenny Moran, looking harried. One thought flashed through his mind. _What did Goren do now?_

"Do you have a moment, Danny?" the chief asked.

Ross closed the file and nodded. The chief came into the office, closed the door and sat down.

Twenty minutes later, a dark frown on his face, Ross opened the door. "Eames! You and your partner get in here."

Ross didn't miss the guarded looks on both detectives' faces as they came into the office. Goren closed the door and stood off to the side to observe and listen, as he usually did. Recent events made him even more wary of the chief, and Ross understood that. Eames remained near her partner, which reassured the captain as much as the suspicious look on her face did. Ross knew she could be unforgiving, and the chief's treatment of Goren after the Quinn shooting still did not sit well with her.

Ross asked, "Do either of you know the chief's assistant?"

"We both know her," Eames answered.

Moran got to his feet and said, "Denise didn't come in this morning. I have worked with her for fifteen years, and she has never just not showed up for work, so I sent a team over to her apartment. It's been ransacked, and Denise has vanished." He looked from one detective to the other. "Find her. Please."

Eames looked at her partner, surprised to see the tail end of a powerful reaction on his face. She knew he had dated Denise, but she wasn't sure how close to the chief's assistant he was. Shifting her gaze to the captain, she saw that he, too, had noticed Goren's reaction. That unsettled her. Goren was not likely to be forthcoming when the captain confronted him. Hell, she wasn't even sure he'd talk to _her_.

The chief turned toward Ross. "Keep me informed every step of the way, Danny."

"I will, chief."

They watched the man leave the office and both Ross and Eames turned toward Goren. "Are you all right, detective?" Ross asked.

"Yes," he replied, but Eames heard the tension in his voice and she guessed Ross did, too.

"Is there going to be a problem with you working this case? Say so now and I'll give it to someone else."

"There's no problem," Goren insisted.

The captain tore a piece of paper from a pad and handed it to Eames. "There's her address. CSU should still be there. Get going."

As they left the office, Eames kept her eye on her partner. He seemed...shell-shocked. When they got back to their desks, he closed the file he'd been working on and grabbed his binder, heading directly for the elevators. She grabbed her jacket from the back of her chair and trotted after him. "Bobby...?"

"I'm fine, Eames."

"Something is wrong."

"Yes. We have a missing person to investigate."

"You know what I mean."

"We know her, Eames," he growled as they got onto the elevator. "Are you trying to tell me you're not concerned?"

"Of course not. I like Denise. But you seem..."

"Upset?"

"No. More than that."

He closed his eyes for a moment, and she wondered what was going through his head. "Never mind. I'm sorry if I gave you the wrong impression. I'm...concerned."

He wasted no time exiting the elevator and heading for the car. Shaking her head, Eames followed him. She was going to get nothing from him until he was ready to give it. All she could do was get to the scene as quickly as she could, knowing he would be restless until they got there. She hated when he got like this, and knowing the victim would only make him worse. Sighing, she slid behind the wheel, started the car and headed out of the parking garage.

* * *

Eames expected Goren to settle once they got to the scene, like he usually did, but he surprised her. His agitation actually increased as they walked down the hall to Denise's third floor apartment. The sight of the crime scene techs milling about-collecting samples, dusting for prints, searching for evidence—unsettled him even more.

His eyes scanned the living room. A bookcase had been knocked over, with smashed pictures and knick-knacks littering the floor among an assortment of books, mostly novels. The cushions were off the couch, one of them torn. He walked slowly down the hall, pausing in the doorway of the each bedroom..

"A two-bedroom apartment," Eames commented. "What am I doing wrong?"

Goren indicated the smaller bedroom. "Her brother goes to Dartmouth. That's his room."

She followed him into the master bedroom, wondering again just how well he knew her. He wandered around the room's perimeter, pausing to look out the window into the street below. "Bobby?"

He turned his head to look at his partner, eyes guarded. "This...was staged," he said quietly. "Most of it anyway."

"What makes you say that?"

"The only other explanation for the destruction is rage, and I don't know anyone harboring that much anger toward her."

She studied him for a moment. "I didn't know you knew her that well."

He looked at her for a moment, but his face revealed nothing. He headed back to the living room as one of the techs called to him. "We found blood," the tech told him. "We've already gotten a sample."

Goren was unable to fully suppress his reaction, but he got it quickly under control, as he had in the captain's office. He walked to the far side of a toppled bookcase, squatting beside the pool of blood that had soaked into the carpet. "Have you found any other trace?"

"Not yet."

Eames came down the hall. "Did you know Denise had someone living with her?"

"What makes you say that?"

"Half a dozen men's suits in the closet, two pairs of shoes, men's clothes in the smaller dresser...jeans, t-shirts... It might not be full time, but we need to find out who he is."

"Th-that's not necessary," he murmured.

"What are you talking about?"

"He...wasn't living here full time," he said quietly.

"Did she tell you who he is?"

Without answering, he turned away from her and squatted down, picking up a smashed figurine from the debris. Hoping for some kind of answer to the question he ignored, she bent over and picked up a picture, turning it over...and she stared at it. "Bobby?"

When he looked at her, she slid the picture out of its ruined frame, careful not to cut her hand on the broken glass, and handed it to him. He looked at the picture and closed his eyes. A wave of intense emotion washed over him like a storm surge and he almost lost it. It took a huge effort for him to keep himself together.

Eames thought he looked ill. When she touched his arm, he slowly opened his eyes and looked at her, his face now carefully guarded. He shifted his eyes quickly away, back to the photo in his hands. "She...loves this picture," he murmured, swallowing hard.

Eames looked at him for a moment longer, then she hunted down the head tech. After a brief conversation with him, she returned to the living room, grabbed her partner's shoulder and said, "Let's go, Goren. We need to talk."

Without a word, he tucked the picture into his binder and followed her from the ruined apartment, unable to rid himself of the rock that settled in the pit of his stomach.


	3. Revelations

**A/N: For those of you who thought Eames was too harsh on Bobby, I just wanted to point out that she is still harboring residual resentment for everything that transpired regarding the murders of her husband and Kevin Quinn. Although he did what was right, even if it was unpopular, she was angry and hurt, and I don't think it was something that resolved itself quickly or easily. So she's still lashing out at him, and although it may be unfair, Bobby is a "safe" target. She can't very well lash out at the brass, or at Minaya or Joe or anyone else. We may not always be rational with our passions, and Eames is, after all, still human. But her emotions will also serve the flow of this story. Other than that, all I can say is: Bear with me...and trust me. Conflict and angst are my mainstay :-)  
**

* * *

They walked in silence to the SUV, and Eames started it, pulling away from the apartment building. Leaving the disturbing scene behind, she glanced at her partner. She didn't like what she saw, so she decided not to head back to 1PP right away. Instead, she headed downtown, to the southern end of the island. He had withdrawn into himself so far that he took no notice of where they were, until she stopped the vehicle and turned it off. Gently, she nudged his arm. "Come on. Let's take a walk." 

Coming out of a daze, he looked around. "Battery Park, Eames?"

"Would you rather talk in the squad room?"

"I'd rather not talk at all."

"Well, that's not an option. Let's go for a walk. The fresh air will do you good."

Realizing he had no choice, he got out of the car with obvious reluctance. They walked along the path toward the river in silence, until Eames finally said, "Okay, Bobby, let's have it."

"Have what?"

She sighed patiently, "Let's start with the picture."

"What's wrong with it?"

"Are you really not going to tell me anything?"

She glanced at him. He closed his eyes briefly, an image of the picture flashing behind his eyes, a picture of Denise...smiling and happy..._with_ _him_... "What do you want to know?" he asked, his tone indicating defeat.

"I'd like to know where the picture was taken...and when," she gently prodded.

"Um...it was the summer before last. On St. Croix."

"In the Caribbean?"

"Yes."

"You were getting serious with her?"

He rubbed the back of his neck, shoving his other hand into his pocket. "You could say that, yes."

"And you never told me?"

"When did I ever discuss my love life with you, Eames?"

"This is serious, Goren."

"You think I don't know that? Look...shortly after we got back, my mother's cancer was diagnosed..." He drifted off, trying to find the right words for what he wanted to say. "Eames...my relationship with you isn't the only relationship in my life that my mother's illness nearly destroyed."

She heard the pain beyond the irritation in his tone. "She broke up with you?"

"In a manner of speaking, yes."

"Why are you making me work so hard for this?"

"Maybe I don't want to talk about it."

She recognized his mood and decided it would be best at the moment if she stepped away from the discussion of the relationship. "The suits in the closet...?"

He nodded. "They're mine."

"I figured as much. I told Matt to exclude your prints from the scene."

"My prints...and my DNA."

She sighed. "When was the last time you were there?"

"This weekend. I left Monday morning."

She swallowed her irritation, unsure about where it even came from. "So that's where you were all weekend."

His only answer was a nod.

After a few moments of silence, she asked, "So what do we do?" 

"I, um...I can make a few phone calls...see if she called anyone."

"You know her brother?"

"Yes... a-and her parents."

She looked at him, but was unable to interpret his expression. She decided to test the waters one more time. "Just how close to her are you?"

"Not as close as I used to be."

Frustration rose once more. "Dammit, Bobby..."

He let out a heavy sigh, filled with sorrow and deep regret. When he spoke, his voice was soft, his control tenuous. "At Thanksgiving, it wasn't just my partnership with you that was coming undone. My entire world was unraveling. Denise and I began...arguing...all the time...and she couldn't...no...no...she wouldn't take it any more. Just before Christmas...she...she left me."

Eames was quiet for a moment, not sure what she was feeling. "I don't know what to say, Bobby."

He shook his head. "Please don't say anything."

"Answer me one more question."

He sighed heavily. "What is it?"

"Do you love her?"

"Y-yes," he answered without thinking, but he caught himself before he said any more.

She was quiet as they continued walking. With great reluctance, she said, "You have to realize...this case..."

"I will not be taken from the case, Eames."

"Bobby..."

"No. I'll take a leave of absence."

"Oh, like that won't be obvious."

"Then I'll resign."

"You'll...what?"

His voice took on a tone she had never heard before. "This is not a random disappearance of some stranger, Eames. This is...this is my..." He trailed off, swallowing hard. "Sh-she's important to me."

"And that makes you too close," she said reasonably.

He trembled and looked at her. "How...how can you say that?"

"Bobby..."

He shook his head and turned his eyes down to the ground. She knew he was shutting down on her again.and she sighed, letting the revelations he'd just made sink in. She wasn't at all sure how she felt. She knew Denise and liked her a great deal. She couldn't think of anyone who didn't like her; however, finding out about the nature of her relationship with Bobby left her feeling unsettled, though she had no idea why. But even though he had opened up to her a little, she still felt he was holding back, and that frustrated her. Why did he have to be so difficult?

He looked away as they walked, turning into himself and his thoughts. During the week he had spent with Denise on St. Croix, he had experienced the only time in his life when he had been purely happy. Days spent on the beach, in the surf, laughing and as carefree as he had ever been. Nights spent holding her, talking to her, and loving her—not the hollow motions of a body in need, seeking only to pleasure his partner and experience release, but love, real love, equally and passionately reciprocated.

He should have known it wouldn't last. Within a few short weeks of their return, his mother's lymphoma had been diagnosed and his world came crashing down around him, sending him into a downward spiral which culminated in her damning confession of his uncertain paternity and her death.

Stunned beyond caring about anything in life, he had hit rock bottom hard. When he came back to himself and took stock of his life, he found a ruined mess, not the worst of which was a damaged partnership and a floundering career. Denise had withdrawn from him, his life was in shambles, and he had no idea how to go about fixing it...but he was trying, and the results had been encouraging. Things were better with Eames, in spite of Friday's misunderstanding. And the past weekend had been very encouraging. There had been talking without arguing, laughter without guilt, loving without question. For the first time in many months, he was beginning to think there was a chance to repair his relationships with the two most important women in his life. And now...now he felt his life beginning to unravel again, and he had no idea how to stop it.

Eames kept him out of the squad room for the rest of the afternoon, knowing how much of a nightmare it would be trying to keep him settled in close quarters. Taking him to Battery Park had been the right choice. The water, she knew, always helped to settle him, and he did seem to calm down and regain his focus. She thought it oddly paradoxical that the restless water was what brought him a measure of calm. But then again, her partner was not a typical man.

"I don't think you should go home tonight," she said quietly as the sun began to sink in the western sky.

"Where do you suggest I go? I don't have that many options, Eames."

"Come home with me. I have that spare bedroom. And I owe you an apology, anyway."

"For what?"

"For taking out my frustration on you, that's what."

"Eames..."

"Don't argue with me. We'll get a quick bite and then go to my house. A decent night's sleep won't hurt you, Bobby. We'll have the preliminary crime scene report first thing in the morning and we can get busy. We'll find her."

"We..."

"Yes, partner. We."

He closed his eyes and fought down a powerful urge to retreat again. "I...I'll need to stop by my place for a clean suit."

"We can do that."

Almost reluctantly, he nodded. She was right. His life was quickly spinning out of control, and he desperately needed to grasp onto something that was not crumbling. If she was offering to provide anchor for him through this storm, he recognized the fact that he was going to need her. The last thing he needed right now was to ostracize himself any further from his partner. She was all that was holding him together at the moment.

* * *

He opened the door to his apartment and said, "I'll be out in a minute." 

"Take your time."

It had been months since she had been to his place and she was not surprised to find little had changed. Goren's life did not lend itself toward frequent household rearranging. He needed things to be stable and unchanging somewhere in his world. She noticed a framed picture on the television that had not been there before, and she was curious. Other than the picture of his mother on the bar near the kitchen and the one of him and his brother as kids on a small table in the corner, he had no pictures in his living room.

She picked it up and studied it. It was different than the one she'd found in Denise's apartment, but the subject matter was the same. It had been taken somewhere else, definitely not on a Caribbean island. He wore one of his best suits; she was in a simple but stunning dress. Both seemed happy and content. She found herself smiling sadly. They were a beautiful couple.

"Eames?"

Turning, she watched the expression on his face change when he saw the picture in her hand. Silently, she set it back in its place and, deciding against questioning him about it right at the moment, she just gave him a smile and said, "Let's get going."

She headed for the door and he followed, stopping to look at the picture. "Bobby?"

He hesitated a few moments longer, then followed her out of the apartment.


	4. The Chief's Input

Eames recognized the exhaustion in her partner and stopped for take out, which she dished up once they got to her place. But the emotional impact of the day took its toll on him and after poking at his dinner, only taking a few bites, he excused himself and went to bed. As Eames was cleaning up the few dishes, her phone rang. Glancing at the caller ID, she groaned softly and answered, "Eames."

_Have you made any headway, Eames?_ the captain asked.

"Not yet. We'll take a look at the crime scene preliminaries and decide where to go from there."

_What did you do this afternoon?_

"We ran into a dead end."

_I'm getting a lot of pressure from upstairs on this one, as you can imagine. The chief is very fond of her and he wants her found, alive and well._

"We want the same thing, Captain, believe me."

_Did you find out what was up with your partner?_

"He knows her better than I do, and he was shocked by what happened. But he'll be all right."

_Are you sure he can handle this?_

"He can handle it. I'm positive."

_Keep an eye on him, Eames._

"I will."

The line went dead and she closed her phone. The last thing they needed was for the chief to be breathing down their necks. Goren was still not his favorite officer after what happened with Patrick Copa, and she certainly had not made any brownie points with him when she'd stood behind her partner. Ross had also stood firmly in their corner and backed Goren fully. For that, Eames was grateful. But the chief was not a good man to piss off, and they had done that, royally.

Yet, in spite of any residual ill feeling, it was to them he came when Denise went missing. There was no denying the statistics. Goren and Eames had the best solve rate in the department. They would find her.

She stopped on the way to her bedroom to look in on Goren. His sleep was restless, which did not surprise her, but at least he was sleeping. She continued to her room.

* * *

Deep in the night, he sat up, drenched in sweat and breathing hard as he struggled to escape from the hold of a vicious nightmare. "Bobby?"

The soft voice, filled with concern, was enough to allow him to shake the final vestiges of the dream from his mind. He swung his legs over the side of the bed, clamping his hands behind his pounding head, as she sat lightly beside him. "I-I woke you," he murmured. "I'm sorry."

She rested a light hand on the sweat-soaked skin of his back. "Don't apologize. Are you all right?"

"I...don't know."

She rubbed his back and he trembled, closing his eyes. "We'll find her," she said softly.

"I...I have a confession to make," he whispered, rubbing his temple. "Please understand."

"Understand what?"

"Why I never said anything."

"About...?"

"The picture you saw...in my apartment..."

After a moment, she said, "What about it?"

"It was taken up in the Catskills. We made a compromise. I prefer the mountains; she likes the beach. So we went up to the mountains for a weekend and then we spent the next week on St. Croix. I-I'd have done anything to make her happy. The compromise was her idea." He studied his hands in the dim light. "Her brother took that picture. It was...the day I married her."

To her credit, she did not withdraw from him, but she was stunned by his admission. Quietly, trying to keep the hurt and the accusation from her voice, she said, "You never told me."

"We agreed not to tell anyone."

"'We?'"

She knew him too well. "Come on, Eames, face it. Being married to me is not exactly a career-booster for a woman like her. I already hurt your career by being your partner. I wasn't taking any chances with hers. It was the right decision."

"But me? I'm your partner, Bobby. You could have told me."

He was quiet for a long time. "That was her way...of punishing me, for not letting her tell anyone. She agreed, but only if I also agreed not to tell anyone, and that included telling you. She likes you, Eames, and she understands that I'm...close to you. She thought I was being ridiculous, and she wanted people to know...but I was adamant about it. I was on the verge of calling it all off. So she agreed, but she said I had to follow the same restrictions, and that meant not telling even you. I...I had to agree."

"You punished her for loving you?"

"It wasn't a punishment. It was just...the way it had to be."

"You're an ass, Bobby."

"I know."

She sat there in silence, trying to process what he'd just told her. "Did she file for divorce?"

He shook his head slowly. "In February, she asked for one. I think she expected me to fight it, but...I was willing to give her whatever she wanted, so I guess you might say I called her bluff. She never filed. This weekend she told me she had hoped it would serve as a wake up call, but I was...numb, I guess. You saw that. I guess she did, too, and she had no idea how to snap me out of it."

"Neither did I," Eames admitted.

"I...was overwhelmed. Everything...culminated in my mother's death. After that, I guess I was finally able to let go and start to recover my bearings."

"So...she was going to take you back?"

"We were talking about it, but I think she was. We...had a very good weekend...almost like it used to be. She said I was getting back to my old self, and she was happy to see that. There's...a chance...uh, was a chance..."

"_Is_, Bobby. We're going to find her."

"God, I hope so. I...I don't know if I can handle this."

"You can and you will. I'll make sure of it."

Another tremor coursed through his muscles. "How...how can I make this up to you?"

"Just keep it together, partner. We'll find her, and you can get your life together. You deserve to be happy, you know. And if she makes you happy..." she trailed off, leaving the statement open as she waited for his response.

"Yes, Eames. She always has."

She sighed quietly. "I know there was a reason I always liked her."

His hand closed on hers when it came to rest on his leg and he gently squeezed. "Thank you, Eames. You can go back to bed."

"Will you be all right now?"

"Yes. I'll be okay."

She lightly squeezed his hand, then got up and left the room. Settling back into her bed, she stared at the ceiling for a long time. Married...he was _married_. She wasn't sure what to make of that. There had been nothing from him to indicate anything had changed in his life. He wore no wedding band, at least not at work. She didn't remember Denise wearing one, either. They had been good at keeping their secret. Not even the 1PP rumor mill, which seldom missed anything, had gotten a whiff of that one. Bobby led two lives, something she had been made more aware of after his mother got sick and he hadn't told her. He had a work life, in which she figured prominently, and a private life that he excluded her from. He had never discussed his personal life, beyond a passing remark about former girlfriends or an offhand comment about his mother or his difficult past. She couldn't remember a time he talked about any current dating interests or plans. Once, she thought she knew him better than anyone. Now, she was fully aware that there was an entire, very important part of his life that he'd kept closed off to her, and she couldn't help resenting the woman who lived that life with him.

He folded his arms behind his head and stared off into space, turning his mind toward the past. He would never have predicted that his mother would have the ability to destroy his life, not after he had survived his childhood. He did believe that she had not intended for things to happened to him the way they did, but when she was diagnosed with lymphoma, his entire world was thrown into a tailspin. He'd struggled for months to keep it together, but the fabric of his existence was of a delicate weave, more easily unraveled than he ever imagined. And when he'd finally crashed, he hit much harder than he anticipated. His partnership was on rocky ground and his marriage was crumbling. His career was balanced precariously on a precipice, with only Ross keeping it from tumbling over the edge.

To his surprise, Ross seemed to have a firm hold on him. The captain wasn't certain about him, but he'd given him more chances than he felt he deserved. He was equally surprised, when the dust cleared, to find that Eames was still his anchor to the real world. They had stumbled, but they had not completely fallen. And Denise...after all he put her through, she was still there, waiting for him to come to his senses. All he had to do was reach out and she was ready to meet him halfway...or more, if he needed her, which he did. The past weekend had gone a long way toward restoring the balance in his life. He felt as though everything was getting back on track at last.

But now...now the light was gone from his life. When he tried to imagine his future without her in it, he saw nothing. They had to find her, alive and well, or it finally would be over for him. He had survived a lot of turmoil and grief, more losses than he could count...but if he lost her...that would be the killing blow. Without her, he could see no future. Sleep did not return.

* * *

Ross wasn't in the office when they arrived in the morning, and the preliminary crime scene report had apparently not yet arrived. Goren explained on the way in that he had talked with Denise's mother and her brother, and neither had heard from her. He hated to worry them, but they would know something was wrong when they tried to reach her and couldn't. He promised to keep them updated and asked them to try not to worry too much, even though he knew better. Denise was close to her family.

It was almost nine when Ross came storming in, looking angry and harried. He pointed at Eames. "My office," he growled. "Just you."

She met Goren's eyes and shrugged, then followed the captain to his office. Ross dropped into his chair and propped his elbows on the desk, rubbing his temples. "This goes from bad to worse, Eames." He pulled a paper from his pocket and handed it to her as he opened the desk drawer and dumped two Nacedrol into his hand. Swallowing the two pills with the remaining cold coffee in his cup, he looked back at Eames, who was staring in disbelief at the form in her hands.

"You've got to be kidding me," she said quietly, disbelief in her voice and her face.

"I wish I was capable of bad jokes like that. He's dead serious."

"Captain, you can't...

"I have no choice. This isn't coming from me, Eames. This comes directly from the chief of d's. I just spent two hours in his office arguing the point. He will not budge. Now, before I bring your partner in, I want some straight answers from you. The chief got the preliminary crime scene report this morning. The only trace in the apartment belongs to Miss Rhodes and your partner. Can you explain that?"

"Yes. He spent the weekend there."

Ross looked surprised. "Why?"

"Because he's very close to her, captain."

"Oh, Eames...that is not what I wanted to hear."

"You wanted the truth."

Ross rubbed his forehead and muttered, "Get him in here."

Reluctantly, Eames left the room, returning with Goren. Ross looked up at him and sighed. "I know what this job means to you, detective. Believe me, I am going to do everything I can to straighten this out. I'm afraid I have to place you on suspension pending the outcome of this case."

Goren stared at him. "What? Why?"

"Because someone pissed in the chief's Post Toasties this morning. He flipped when he saw the crime scene preliminary. In his mind, detective, you have become the primary suspect in Miss Rhodes' disappearance."

"Suspect? Captain, I didn't do anything to her."

Ross nodded. "I believe you. I fought this, Goren, but the best I could do was get him to suspend you with pay. When I walked into his office, he wanted me to arrest you." He pointed a warning finger at his detective. "Tread lightly here, detective. If you so much as stick your nose past the line, the chief will have you arrested and charged with her disappearance. I'll do everything I can for you, but Moran has decided to call the shots in this matter. When did you see Miss Rhodes last?"

Goren frowned. "Monday morning."

"You were at her apartment all weekend?"

"Yes."

"Apparently she disappeared sometime between the time she left her office Tuesday night and nine Wednesday morning when she had to be here for work."

"Uh, I talked to her Tuesday night...at around eleven."

"All right, then, That narrows it down a little." He studied Goren for a long moment. "Don't make me regret this decision, detective. You are on suspension, but I will allow Eames to keep you updated. I'm certain she'd do that anyway. You can do whatever you are able to do, and let Eames know when you find anything. The chief cannot get wind of this collaboration. Do you understand me?"

Both detectives nodded. Eames looked at Goren, and then at Ross. "So who will I be working with...officially?"

"I will be working with you," Ross answered. "But Goren is still your partner." His gaze shifted to Goren. "I'll need your badge and your weapon, for the time being."

Goren's face was unreadable as he set the badge and the gun on the corner of Ross' desk and headed for the door. "Goren," Ross called. "Keep a low profile."

Without looking back, Goren nodded briefly and left the office. Ross did not miss the turmoil on Eames' face. "It will be all right, Eames. Just find Denise Rhodes."

Eames looked at him. "We intend to," she answered firmly. "And thank you, Captain, for sticking up for him again."

Ross nodded. "Just be aware that Moran likes him for this. He thinks the man finally snapped and Miss Rhodes caught the brunt of it."

"He would never hurt her. Captain...he is much closer to her than I ever realized."

"And being that close _makes_ him the primary suspect. Clear this up, Eames, so I can give these back to him. On the books, he's suspended. But what he does with his time...well, that's up to him. Just tell him to be careful. I'm not so sure the chief trusts any of us at the moment." He stressed his next two words. "Low profile."

"He'll be careful."

Ross nodded and she left the office. She was deeply saddened to find her partner gone.

* * *

He did not hesitate to break the crime scene tape and enter the apartment. The first thing he noticed was the open window. Cautiously drawing his back-up piece, he went through the apartment, but it was empty. Putting the gun away, he pulled out a pair of latex gloves and snapped them on. His memories of the day before were partially obscured by the haze of shock he'd been in. Now, a simmering fury had burned off any remaining haze and he could give the apartment the scrutiny it needed. He got to work.

He started in the bedroom and worked his way toward the living room. It was almost lunchtime when he saw the neatly folded paper bag resting in the debris in front of the couch. There was no way the CSU techs would have missed that. Whoever had kidnapped Denise must have returned and left it...but why?

Gently lifting the bag from the floor, he carefully unfolded it and opened it. Reaching in, he pulled out the contents: a single book. Frowning, he turned it over in his hands, and he nearly dropped it when he read the title: _Moby-Dick_.

He opened the book's cover and found an inscription in careful script:

_Bobby, All Rhodes lead to me, darling. I never forgave you for what you took from me. Now it's time for me to repay you. But all is not lost. You can find her, before it's too late. If you can decipher the clues found in this book, you can be a hero once again. But it's not about that, is it? Not this time. Public records are wonderful resources, filled with all kinds of surprising tidbits. Your relentless pursuit of justice is your white whale, Bobby. In the end, as with Ahab, it will be your undoing._

With trembling hands, he pulled out his phone and called his partner.


	5. A Leap of Faith

Eames pushed the door to Denise's apartment open and stepped into the ruined living room. Her eyes searched the room, and she found him, sitting at the dining table, buried in a book. That struck her as odd. When he'd called her, he sounded close to panic.

When he heard her in the living room, he looked up. But before he could say a word, another body overshadowed the doorway and Ross came into the apartment. He studied Goren for a moment. "Is this your idea of 'low profile,' detective?"

Goren studied the captain. "I was...distracted yesterday. If I missed something...I didn't want to take that chance. Th-the person who kidnapped her...came back...an-and left something for me."

"For you?"

He flipped to the title page of the book in front of him and held it out. Eames took it, and the inscription sent a cold shudder down her spine. "No..."

Ross read it over her shoulder, then asked, "Someone you know, I presume?"

All Eames could manage was a nod. Goren took the book back and answered, "Nicole Wallace."

Ross had never heard a name spoken with more venom, particularly not from Goren. "Why does that name sound familiar?"

"Nicole Wallace," began Eames with just as much venom as her partner. "...has been a thorn in our sides for the past five years. We have a sizable file on her."

Ross watched Goren page through the book, stopping on a page that was written on. "W-we have...until tomorrow...to find her," he murmured, pain raw in his voice.

"What makes you say that?"

"A passage she underlined...in Chapter Two: 'Now having a night, a day, and still another night following before me in New Bedford, ere I could embark for my destined port...' Sh-she took her...yesterday. That gives us until tomorrow."

"Any idea what her 'destined port' is?"

"Carthage."

"Excuse me?"

"Another passage she referred to. She wrote here: 'In ancient Carthage, shall we await Ahab.' Ishmael refers to New Bedford as 'the Tyre of this Carthage.' Tyre was a great Phoenician port that overshadowed its parent port, Carthage. In this case...Nantucket."

Eames raised an eyebrow at him. "Nantucket? Why wouldn't she keep her in New York?"

"New York is my home turf. She is seeking an encounter on more...neutral ground. An-and Denise...she's the...carrot..."

Ross looked at him skeptically. "Carrot?"

"The enticement, the bait," Eames replied, not taking her eyes from her distraught partner. "She has a propensity for searching public records. She found...something there."

"Oh? And just what could she have found in public records?"

Eames remained silent, still watching Goren. She had said all she intended to say. It was up to him to elaborate, if he chose to. In silence, Goren continued to leaf through the book. Finally, in a strained voice, he said, "Sh-she found a record...of a marriage..."

Ross was not the kind of man who had to be knocked over the head until senseless to take a hint. "A marriage record...of Miss Rhodes' marriage..."

Goren slowly nodded his head. "Her marriage...to me."

Ross moved past Eames to sit down in a chair and process the information. "When?"

"Last summer."

"You sure know how to muddy the waters, detective." He sighed heavily. "If the chief gets wind of that...he _will _have you arrested."

Eames frowned. "For being married?"

Ross turned to face her. "For being married to a woman who has disappeared. For not having a solid alibi..."

"For being on the chief's shit list," Goren added bitterly. "I didn't do anything to her, captain. B-but Nicole would know...that I would be the primary suspect. My trace is all over the apartment, and there is nothing to link her to Denise's disappearance." He held up the book. "Except this..."

"And that is highly subjective."

Goren nodded. "I am not wrong, captain."

He studied the captain, knowing this was going to take a huge leap of faith on Ross' part. Ross was going to have to trust him more than he ever had before, and he was not certain he had earned that degree of faith from his captain. Ross met his eyes and neither man flinched. Without looking away, Ross said, "Eames?"

Answering the captain's unstated question, she said, "Yes, captain." Her eyes shifted toward her partner. "I do trust him."

Ross sighed. "Did you know?"

"No one did. And I can't blame him for keeping it quiet."

Goren swallowed his irritation over being discussed as if he was not there. Ross heard the soft exhalation and his eyes narrowed at his detective. Goren sighed softly. "You don't believe me," he murmured.

"On the contrary, detective. I do. You are certain about this Wallace thing?"

"Yes."

"And the only chance to save your wife..."

"Is to confront Nicole."

"Bobby..." Eames started.

He shook his head, flipping through the book. He held it out to Eames. With a tremor in her voice, she read aloud, "'_Rachel _searches for her missing sons and pulls another orphan from the sea'. She underlined...orphan. Bobby?"

"Sh-she wants me to come alone."

"That is not going to happen, Goren," said Ross adamantly, realizing there was no way he would be able to keep Goren in New York. He looked at Eames. "I am going to trust you, as I always have, to keep an eye on him, Eames. I want frequent updates on every move either of you makes. Don't make me come to Nantucket." He met Goren's eyes. "And don't make me regret this decision, detective."

Eames handed the keys to the captain. "We'd better get going right away."

The captain looked from her to Goren and back. "Be careful," he warned, taking the keys and leaving the apartment.

Eames looked at her partner. He had turned back to the book. She had the feeling there was nothing she could do for him, except accompany him and follow his lead. She was dreading this encounter. Nicole Wallace was unpredictable, a vicious predator who had long ago set her eyes on Goren as her ultimate prey. And now, she found the perfect bait. The thought made Eames' stomach churn. Pulling out her phone, she made arrangements for them to fly out as soon as they could get to the airport.

"Let's go, Bobby. The sooner we get to Nantucket, the sooner we can find your...wife."

He looked up, not missing the way she choked out the word 'wife.' He frowned as he gathered the book and his binder. "What's the problem, Eames?"

"No problem. I just need time to...adjust. That's all."

He accepted that and followed her out the door.


	6. Flashfire

Cotton rope bit into her wrists, and her shoulders ached from her arms being held in place over her head, bound to the headboard of an old bed. If there was any light in the room, it was not being let through the cloth of the blindfold tied snugly around her head. She had no idea how long she had been there. It could have been days; it might have been hours. The lumpy mattress smelled old and musty, which congested her head, forcing her to breathe partially through the gag that bound her mouth. She was still dressed only in the shirt she had worn to bed, one of Bobby's NYPD t-shirts, and she shivered from the cold that drafted into the room. She could smell the ocean and in the silence, she thought she could hear breakers crashing on a beach someplace not too far away. She felt sick to her stomach and her head was foggy and confused. She probably should feel frightened but only two emotions found their way from her heart to explode in her head: anger and worry. She was furious that she had been taken by surprise and finally overpowered, after a vicious fight. A sharp prick in her back had quickly been followed by darkness. Now...remembering the shambles of her apartment...Bobby was going to be worried sick, and that caused worry to churn in her own gut. She silently prayed he would be all right and the sick feeling in her stomach intensified with her fear that he would not be.

She heard footfalls and her gut clenched with a renewed surge of anger. The door creaked and light steps approached the bed. She knew what to expect and her anger grew. She bucked angrily when a hand touched her. A soft voice with a lilting accent purred into her ear, "So feisty. I'll wager you're a wildcat in bed with him. But then he likes his women feisty, doesn't he?"

Fingers caressed her body and she fought harder. The burning pain in her wrists drew her focus away from the light touch, which she tried to pull away from. She growled furiously when the hand slid under her shirt, silent tears of rage dampening the blindfold. Her captor was persistent. The gentle touch continued, undeterred by her struggles. Lips brushed her temple as the hand continued to stroke the most sensitive areas of her body. She was furious with this woman and even more enraged at her own body's betrayal. She growled at the woman, whose only response was a soft, amused laugh. The caressing continued and she was again unable to keep up the intensity of her struggle. She was weary, her mind still blurry from the previous injection. As had happened each time before, infuriating her, she gradually settled, physically unable to continue the fight

When an involuntary groan, followed by a furious sob, escaped from her, her captor once again laughed a wicked laugh. "I'll be back, darling."

Another sharp prick, this one in her thigh, was followed by a burning sensation. She fought the sedating darkness, to no avail, and everything went dark.

* * *

During the entire flight to Nantucket, Goren fought his restless anxiety by burying himself in the book, searching for some clue that would lead them to Denise. As he read Chapter Fourteen, which was peppered with seemingly random underlinings, he slowly sat up straighter. Skipping around, he read only the underlined words: "Nantucket!" "...a mere hillock..." "...elbow of sand..." "...born on a beach..." "He lives on the sea..." 

"What is it?" Eames asked softly.

"W-we need to find an islander who can direct us to abandoned buildings on the beach."

Eames took the book he offered and read the underlined words as he had. "Bobby, this is too easy."

Slowly, Goren shook his head. "She doesn't want Denise. She is only the bait. But she _will_ hurt her, if she gets the chance. She..." His body trembled involuntarily. "She will harm her out of pure jealousy."

"Because..."

"Because she knows Denise is important to me. Th-the same reason she always resented you."

"Only she has more incentive to hate Denise."

He studied her, sensing the resentment in her tone, and he frowned. "Eames...I...I am sorry."

"Sorry you got married?"

"Uh, no. But I am sorry I never told you."

She looked away and muttered, "Whatever."

His tenuous grip on his temper snapped and his muscles shuddered under the stress. "Who the hell do you think you are?" he growled, his voice low and dangerous. "I don't need your approval or anyone else's to live my life."

She glared at him and in spite of the confined space in the small commuter plane, she stood and moved away to another seat. He turned and looked out the window, glad not to have to talk any longer. He was getting tired of apologizing for every damn thing he did. He returned to the book as he continued to try keeping his fear from crossing the line into a full blown panic._ She has to be all right_, he thought repeatedly to himself. _She __**has**__ to be..._.

* * *

By the time they landed in Nantucket, he had his anger once more under control and he chased down his partner when they got off the plane. "Eames, please...I'm sorry...I'm just...upset...and worried. I can't..." His voice broke and he stopped, turning away and struggling to regain control. 

Anger aside, she could not deny that she cared about the man. Turning she walked back to him, resting a hand on his arm. Silently, he turned toward her, drawing her into a desperate hug. She smoothed her hand over his hair and wondered if she'd heard a sob emanate from where his face was buried in her coat. She couldn't mistake the shudder that coursed through his body. In spite of her uncertainty about just how she felt about his marriage, she consoled him. "We'll find her, Bobby. Come on...let's go find us an islander."

He held her a little longer before finally stepping back, embarrassed. "Eames...Alex...I..."

"Forget it," she insisted. "I know how you get. Come on...let's go find Denise."

He only hesitated for a moment before following her across the tarmac.


	7. Triumph and Tragedy

**A/N: Happy Thanksgiving, everyone! And a happy Thursday to those of you who live outside the U.S.**

* * *

The office of the Nantucket chief of police was small and cluttered. Eames had no trouble at all visualizing the burly man behind the desk on the deck of a whaling ship. Right now, he was thinking carefully about their request and the explanation for it. "And you think this missing woman is on our island, why?"

She wasn't certain he would buy her partner's hunch as a valid reason to search every abandoned building on the island. Quietly, Goren said, "Our investigation turned up evidence that the suspect brought her here."

"But to an abandoned building?"

Before Goren could answer, Eames read his frustration and said, "Do you really think any suspect would pop in to a bed and breakfast with a victim, chief?"

As the chief slowly nodded, accepting her argument with an amused smile, she chanced another look at her partner. The longer they were detained in the chief's office, the more restless he got, but she had to admit, he was holding it together admirably well.

Finally, the chief stood and walked to the door. "Lester! Come in here, please."

A few moments later, a gangly young man in a crisp uniform came into the room. "Yes, chief?"

"These are detectives from New York, Lester. They are investigating a kidnapping and have reason to believe their victim may have been brought here. They want to search the abandoned properties on the island, starting with the beach front areas. Go with them and show them where to look." Turning to Goren and Eames, he said, "Lester here has lived on the island all his life. He knows it better than any officer I have. Keep me informed, if you would."

After shaking hands with the young man who, to her, looked just like her mind pictured a man named Lester would look, Eames thanked the chief and promised to let him know what transpired. As they followed Lester from the building, she stepped up to her partner's side. "You all right?"

He was quiet as they stepped out into the cool autumn afternoon. Slowly, he shook his head and she lightly brushed her hand over his arm. He took a modicum of comfort from the gesture and gave her a brief, troubled smile. More and more she felt her frustrated jealousy slip away as she sensed him slipping further from her. She had to draw him back or there was a chance she would lose him forever. "Bobby," she said softly. "Trust me. We are going to find her."

He turned his head toward her. "Eames, you can't..."

A hand on his arm silenced his protest. "Yes, I _can_ make that promise, because I am not going to accept any other outcome."

He drew in an uneven breath which he deftly covered with a cough. Then he retreated once more into himself, but Eames was satisfied that he had not gone as far as he had before. Ten steps ahead of them, Lester opened the driver's door of a blue and white Jeep Cherokee with 'Nantucket Police' on the door. "We'll start on the north end of the island and sweep to the south along the Atlantic side of the island, if that's okay with you folks."

With a glance at Goren, who nodded tautly, Eames replied, "That's fine, officer."

He grinned. "You can call me Lester," he answered. "Everyone on the island does."

Once they were in the vehicle, he pulled away from the curb and they began their search.

* * *

As the clock approached midnight and they stepped onto the porch from inside another empty building, Goren leaned against a railing and looked out across the stormy ocean. Eames watched him light a cigarette and she remained silent, understanding his frustration as well as knowing just how close he was to losing his tenuous grip on his control. Worry was pushing him to the edge, and her heart ached for him. Stepping up to his side, she laid a hand on his arm, surprised by the fine tremor that rippled beneath her fingers. He was much closer to the edge than she realized. "Are you hanging in there?" she asked softly, not even trying to mask the concern in her tone.

He shifted uneasily and looked at her. "Barely," he said, his voice strained.

Lester joined them. "The next one is about a half mile down the beach. Do you want to wait until morning to continue?"

"No," Goren snapped, and Eames tightened her grip on his arm. He drew in a deep breath and stubbed out the cigarette. "Sorry."

"Is there somethin' I oughta know?"

Shaking his head, Goren answered, "No. Let's go."

Pulling away from his partner, he stepped off the porch and headed for the Jeep. Lester looked at Eames, who was watching Goren with concern. Heading off the porch, she followed the big, brooding cop without saying a word. With a sigh, Lester trotted to the car and, starting the engine, headed south.

* * *

"This used to be a motel," Lester explained. "It shut down in the eighties. There's twenty rooms, so it'll take us more time to cover 'em all."

Goren nodded. "Let's get to it."

Cautiously, the three law enforcement officers began to check each room of the abandoned motel. Each doorknob turned; each door opened. Each room was empty. Every empty room added to Goren's frustration and contributed to a mounting despair within him. With the despair came anger, and he was glad Eames was elsewhere in the building. She would have picked up on it and the last thing he wanted was to take his temper out on her again. Since landing on the island, he had come to count on her to help him maintain his control. Without her, he would have lost it a long time ago.

He grasped another knob, twisted and pushed. Empty. Grasp, twist, push. Empty. Grasp, twist...hold on...the doorknob didn't move. "Eames," he called softly.

"What is it?" her voice came back, closer than he anticipated.

"Locked door," he replied.

Several long seconds later, she came into the circle of light cast by his flashlight, gun drawn. He drew his own weapon. "Ready?" he whispered.

She nodded. On the count of three, he kicked the door open. The rotted doorjam gave way and the door slammed open. He entered first, flashlight beam sweeping the room. It came to rest on the bed, and it was clearly apparent that someone was laying there. Shoving his gun into its holster, he rushed forward. Pulling his switchblade from his pocket, he sliced through the ropes that bound her wrists to the headboard. Absently closing the knife and sliding it back into his pocket, he lowered himself to the bed and slipped the blindfold and gag from her face, gently pulling her into his arms. "Denise?" he whispered.

Eames held the light on Denise's face, and she breathed a deep sigh of relief when she moved and groaned.

As she struggled through the fog of the last dose of sedative, Denise became aware of hands touching her and she began to struggle. Slowly it dawned on her blurry mind that her arms were free and so was her mouth. She began to swear and fight until the voice penetrated the fog and she recognized it. A man's voice, familiar...and well loved. "Bobby?" she gasped.

"Shhh..." he hushed, brushing her hair back from her face and gently kissing her. "You're safe."

"Oh, Bobby!" She threw her arms around him and buried her face in his broad chest. Only to him would she reveal her fears and she sobbed softly into his shirt.

Eames watched them, relieved beyond words as she watched the tension of fear fade from his body. Lester appeared beside her for a moment, disappeared and then returned. "There's an ambulance on the way," he whispered to her.

She nodded, keeping her eye on her partner as Denise relaxed in his arms, surrendering again to the sedatives still in her system. He continued to hold her until his phone rang. With great reluctance he eased her back onto the bed and stood to pull the phone from his pocket. "Goren," he muttered into it.

_Very, very good, Bobby. You found her in time. Now there is one more minor detail to take care of. Leave your wife with your partner and head south on the beach for about a half mile. I'll be waiting for you._

Eames saw the sudden tension that reclaimed him and a lump formed in her gut. "Bobby?"

Leaning down, he kissed Denise, then he turned to his partner. The light from her flashlight made the fury on his face even more frightening than she knew it to be. "Take care of her, please," he murmured, pressing his phone into her hand. Before she could say a word, he was gone.

Recovering quickly, she swore passionately. "Lester," she growled. "Please stay with her and see her safely into the ambulance. I've got to back up my partner."

She ran out the door as Lester said, "I'll take care of her, detective."

By the time Eames emerged onto the porch, he was nowhere to be seen. "Son of a bitch!" she swore, charging off the porch into the sand. She looked up the beach and down, finally spotting a figure moving far down the beach to the south. She ran in that direction.

He ran to the south, concerned only with confronting Nicole and making her sorry for the grief she had caused his wife. His rage beat a pounding staccato in his head as his eyes scanned the beach for the diminutive figure of his most cunning adversary. The beach cut to the west and he followed it...and standing out on a jetty thrust like a finger out into the choppy sea was the woman he sought. He ran toward her.

Nicole Wallace was not stupid. She knew that in kidnapping Denise Rhodes she would invite the fury of the man who had married her, but she was possessed of a rage all her own. He got married. How dare he! That was something she had not planned on, although it had played into her plans rather well. She could not have asked for better bait to draw him to her. Not even that tiresome partner of his. She watched him approach and she got ready.

Eames continued to run down the beach, but her strides were nowhere near as distance-devouring as her partner's were. She had seen the rage in his eyes. She was afraid that would make him careless. _Damn it, Bobby!_ she swore to herself, pushing herself harder when he disappeared from sight.

He drew to a stop, breathing heavily, several yards in front of her. He knew better than to get close, in spite of his fury. She smiled at him, the feral smile of a cunning predator. "Hello, Bobby."

"Why?" he demanded.

"Somehow, I don't think you would have come to my little party if I had simply sent an invitation."

"If you have harmed her..."

"Oh, relax. A little sedation is the worst I gave her. She will recover. Actually, I was quite nice to her, because she must be special to have captured _your_ restless heart. And I owed her _something_ for helping bring you to me." Her smile widened. "She's not a very talkative thing, Bobby. I couldn't get her to say a word about you."

He raised his hands. "What did you want to know that you haven't found out from me?"

"I wanted her perspective on life with you."

"She hasn't lived with me for most of the past year, Nicole."

Wallace studied him with interest. "Did you drive her away?" she asked, amused.

The taunt struck at his heart because he knew that it was true. But he also knew that he was winning her back, and that eased his pain. "I, um, I was dealing with my mother," he offered.

"Ah, yes. Mommy's gone now, isn't she? When did she pass away?"

"You know the answer to that."

"What a fitting birthday gift for you," she laughed.

"Look, Nicole. I'm tired of this game. It's time to end it."

She moved closer to him. "I quite agree, dear. It _is_ time to end it."

He watched with suspicion as she held out her hands, as though she was expecting him to cuff her. He stepped back as she drew near. She looked surprised and held up empty hands. "What are you afraid of, darling?"

"_Don't_ call me that," he growled.

Another laugh and she turned, walking down the jetty toward the sea. He followed. He had no intention of letting Nicole Wallace get away again.

Eames rounded the jag in the beach and saw the two figures out on the jetty. "Oh, my God," she breathed heavily. A sharp pain in her side brought her to her knees and she had to stop long enough to recover. It took only a few minutes, but in that time, she watched in horror as her partner followed his nemesis further out onto the jetty. "No, Bobby..." she pleaded.

She heard the sirens, and she knew it was more than just the ambulance. Lester had called his people for back up. "Thank you, Lester," she whispered as she struggled back to her feet. "Please, hurry," she pleaded as she resumed running toward the jetty.

As she arrived at the site where the jetty met the beach, two police cars pulled up, having spotted her running down the beach from the coast road. The chief stepped out of the closer of the two cars and she pointed toward the end of the jetty. "My...partner..." was all she could manage.

Nodding, the chief motioned to the two officers from the other car and the three of them ran down the jetty toward the sea. Eames followed. By the time she got there, the three Nantucket officers were alone. The chief's eyes were filled with deep regret. He shook his head. "There was no one here when we got here, Detective Eames."

Fear gripping her heart, Eames looked out across the restless sea. There was no sign of life anywhere in or on the ocean. With a quiet sob, she sank to her knees and whispered, "No..."


	8. Lost

The cold water was a shock, and he had no idea how he came to end up in the ocean. Wallace had rushed him in a rage, but he didn't remember her body hitting him, and he had no idea if she, also, had gone into the sea. His head struck something hard and he struggled to remain conscious; to give in to the darkness would be to die. He struggled through the cold water until his head broke the surface and he gasped air into starved lungs. The current was swift, and he wondered if he'd been caught in a riptide. By the light of the moon, he could not see land and he was disoriented by the cold. He was a strong swimmer, but his mind was foggy and he had no idea which way to swim toward land. The water was rough and he had to struggle to keep his head above the waves. Occasionally, a wave would wash over him and each time, it was a greater struggle for him to resurface. He was getting tired and the temptation to give in to the encroaching darkness was great. He staved it off by sheer will of mind, focusing his thoughts on the only two people in the world who mattered to him: his wife and his partner. He had no desire to leave either of them, and though they were far away, they sustained him. He fought for his life against the cold and the ever-strengthening desire to sleep, not because his life meant something to him, but because it meant everything to them...because they meant everything to him and he had caused them enough grief and pain. Denise...his love and his life...and Alex...his anchor and his strength... They got him through the night.

It was no longer night, and still he could not see land. Random thoughts and phrases flitted through his blurry, cold-numbed mind. His thoughts strayed to Nicole Wallace, his albatross and the reason he was where he was, struggling for his life against the cold ocean and a head injury. _Your relentless pursuit of justice is your white whale, Bobby. _The thought of Nicole brought to his mind Ahab's last words: _...to the last I grapple with thee; from hell's heart I stab at thee; for hate's sake I spit my last breath at thee._ His last breath...no...his last thoughts would not be of Nicole Wallace. He returned his thoughts to Alex and Denise._ It's too late...Come on, baby. Let's talk...You could have told me...I love you..._ Remorse filled him for the turn his life with them had taken, and he wanted only one more chance to make it right, a chance he now realized he would never get. _Denise...Alex...__I'm sorry..._

_Water, water everywhere, and not a drop to drink..._he laughed at the thought of it. He had no idea how long he had been in the water, but he had stopped shivering and he was sleepy. Alert enough to know that was not good, he also knew there was nothing he could do about it. Confusion set in and he felt warmer. He let his mind wander where it would, and thoughts of his partner and his wife were what came to him. Just before he lost consciousness, he thought he felt something near him in the water. His fingers brushed smooth wet skin, and he thought something bumped into him, buoying his head above the water. But he was disoriented and had to be imagining things. He saw nothing in the choppy water around him. His final thoughts were a memory of a warm bed and a welcoming body and the chance he had to make things right with the woman he loved. As he slid into unconsciousness, it bumped him again.

* * *

Danny Ross could not sleep. So he sat in his bed with a thick file, turning page after page, reading the reports of Nicole Wallace's encounters with Goren and Eames. He quickly came to the conclusion that she was one disturbed woman, and her obsession with Goren did not sit well with him. She had already proven she would kill without hesitation if she thought it would get her somewhere. How likely was she to kill Denise Rhodes, particularly if she knew Goren had married the woman? He did not like the answer he arrived at. He was equally unsettled by his inability to predict what Goren's reaction would be and whether Eames would be able to intervene, to keep the man under control.

The sound of the phone startled him and he reached for it with apprehension. "Ross."

_It's Eames, Captain. We found Denise Rhodes._

"Is she all right?"

_She will be. They've taken her to the local hospital and she'll be transferred to New York later today._

"Is Goren all right now?" The line was silent. "Eames?"

_He...he's MIA right now, Captain. And there's nothing we can do until daybreak. They'll search for him...but by then...I think it will be too late to do anything for him, even if they find him._

Ross frowned. "What the hell happened?"

_He...confronted Wallace, and they both vanished into the ocean off the end of a jetty._

It was Ross' turn for silence. This was unexpected. "Are you staying?"

_Yes. I'm going to visit with Denise once she wakes up and...prepare her._

"Do you think your partner is dead?"

He was beginning to think she wasn't going to answer when she finally spoke, her voice breaking on the single word. _Yes._

Her answer disturbed him more deeply than he would have thought possible. Finally, he let out a heavy breath. "I'll let the chief know about Miss Rhodes...and I'm on my way."

He dialed the chief's number as he got up and pulled jeans and a t-shirt from his dresser. An hour and a half later, he was on a plane bound for Nantucket with Kenny Moran sitting in the seat beside him.

* * *

The lights were dimmed and the only sound in the room was the soft beeping of a cardiac monitor. Denise opened her eyes slowly and looked around the small room. "Bobby?"

There was movement beside her bed and she turned her head, surprised to see her boss and not her husband in the chair beside her bed. "Ken? What are you doing here?"

"Were you just calling for Bobby Goren, Denise? Or were you hoping he was no longer near you?"

"What are you talking about?"

"He did this to you," he accused. "I'll arrest the bastard myself..."

"Ken, you have lost your mind. Bobby has never harmed me."

Haversham looked confused. "You're certain he had nothing to do with this?"

"Positive."

"So why did you call his name?"

"Because I thought he was the one sitting there, not you."

"And just why would he be sitting here?"

Denise sighed. The game was up. Like it or not, people would now know what Bobby had never wanted them to know. And she had to admit she was glad. Regardless of what he said, she was proud to be his wife and happy to be married to him. Above everything else, she loved him. Her career was secondary to her marriage, even if she had a hard time convincing him of that. "Look, Kenny, I know how he comes across to you, but he is not the crackpot you seem to think he is. The things you said about him when Kevin Quinn was killed were inexcusable."

"I thought we were done with that argument."

"Have you offered him an apology yet?"

"I told you I don't think I was wrong."

"You stubborn fool," she replied, shaking her head.

"I still don't understand why you defend him so much."

"Because I know him, and I know he does not deserve your criticism."

"You must still be suffering from your ordeal. Just rest, Denise."

"Don't you dare patronize me, you pompous ass," she snapped, fully aware that she was about the only member of the NYPD who could get away with calling him that. "Do you really want to know about my connection to Bobby Goren?"

"It disturbs me to even think you have a connection to him, Denise."

"Then prepare yourself, Ken. Last summer I married the man."

Moran stared at her. "Please tell me you're kidding."

She huffed irritably. "Go away, Kenneth. I'm very tired and anxious to see my husband. If you want to do something for me, find Bobby and bring him to see me. Otherwise, I'll see you when I come back to work."

Turning away from him, she pulled the blanket up to her chin and closed her eyes. She had no time to think before she was sleeping again.

* * *

The first break of day found Eames still on the beach. The moon by which she had watched her partner head for his fate in the rough sea was gone and the sun was making its way toward the edge of the eastern horizon. Police boats and divers were heading out into the choppy surf. She knew there was a chance they would recover him, but she also knew that the chance that he would be found alive was close to nothing.

Beside her in the sand stood Ross, his hands buried in his jacket's pockets. They had not had a chance to talk since he had arrived with the chief of detectives two hours earlier. The chief was back at the hospital with Denise, still unaware that she was Goren's wife, and Ross was there with her, in the cold breeze that blew off the ocean as dawn broke and divers searched for the body of the man who had been her partner and friend for more than half a decade.

Quietly, Ross asked, "So...why did he go after her alone?"

She contemplated the answer, not wanting to reply out of anger or frustration. "I never pretended to know what goes through his head, Captain."

"All right, then, why weren't you with him?"

She sighed. "Because he got a call and took off. I went right after him, but he can move faster than I can. By the time I caught up to him, it was too late. He had already confronted Wallace and they were both gone."

"Chances are they are both dead."

"I.." She took an uneven breath and let it out slowly. "I know. But we have to know for certain, Captain. _I_ have to know." She looked out over the relentless sea and faced her darkest fear, that she would never again see the amused smile that often lit up his face or hear his soft, gentle voice telling her exactly why he was right about a case. She shivered as it hit her with renewed ferocity that her partner was gone, forever.

* * *

It was daylight when she woke again and she turned over in the bed, hoping to find Bobby sitting there. She was surprised to see Eames there instead. "Alex? Where's Bobby?"

"How are you feeling, Denise?"

"Still groggy and kind of sick to my stomach."

Denise looked more closely at Eames and she frowned, sitting up in the bed. Something was wrong. "Alex? Where is Bobby?" she repeated.

Eames braced herself. She did not want to have this conversation. Quietly, she said, "He went after the woman who kidnapped you, Denise. He confronted her. And they both...disappeared into the ocean. The local police are still searching, but..." She shook her head sadly.

Denise felt as though the heart had been ripped from her chest, and it had. "Oh, my God...no... Please... no..."

"I'm sorry, Denise."

Eames moved from the chair to sit on the edge of the bed, and she drew her partner's widow into a hug. She was jealous of the relationship this woman had enjoyed with Bobby, but she also grieved the loss of him with her. He had been important to them both, and they were both lost without him.


	9. Morning Tide

Once Denise was on her way to New York, Eames returned to the beach near the jetty where she had last seen her partner. She was surprised to see Ross out on the jetty, walking toward her. "How is Miss Rhodes?"

"Physically, all right."

Ross nodded understanding. "There is something I don't quite understand, Eames."

"What's that?"

"You have always been adamant in your support of your partner. But now, you seem to have...given up, without a fight."

Eames looked out across the ocean, eyes moist. "He went into the ocean off a rocky outcrop, captain. She had to have done something to him. There was no way she could take him out on her own. I think the idea that he got married, that he could have that kind of relationship and that he actually...loved someone else...I don't think she could handle that. It drove her to desperation. That was why she lured him here, and why she did not harm his wife. He was her target. Bobby..." She looked down at the sand, gathering her composure. "He had no fear, captain. Not for himself. He always ran headlong into everything, his only regard the protection of others. But this time...his rage made him careless. He was vulnerable, and Wallace would have taken full advantage of that. She spent years stringing him along for...whatever she had in mind. There was a strong attraction there...sexual on her part, curiosity on his. She intrigued him, like every criminal did. But his marriage was a betrayal of some kind in her mind. And her attitude was...if she couldn't have him, no one could. She made that very clear to me, but I never had a sexual interest in him. He was my partner and my friend. Nicole could accept that, even if she didn't like it. But Denise was his wife and that was too much for her. So she took him away...from the both of us."

"Be honest with me, Eames," Ross said, his voice gentle. "Your relationship with Goren...was it _ever_ physical?"

"In spite of the rumors...no, Captain. It never was. But he was always my friend, and he became my closest friend." Again, her eyes cast out across the sea. "And even at that, I sometimes wondered if I ever really knew him. He was a master at hiding himself from the world, and there were few people he ever let in. I once thought I was as close as anyone ever got. Now...I wonder."

"Because you never knew about his marriage?"

She nodded. "He closed off that entire part of his life to me." She sighed, uncomfortable with the conversation. "Wallace is vicious, cunning and unpredictable. I would not be surprised if she turned up again to rub our noses in this, and to taunt me because she finally succeeded in taking him away from me."

The conversation was interrupted by Lester, who approached from the road. "Detective Eames, Captain Ross..." He extended a hand, placing a dark shape into Eames' palm. "This washed ashore about five miles north of here."

Eames looked at the gold shield in her hand, then looked up at Ross. "Bobby's badge," she said, her throat tight.

Ross laid a hand on her arm. He understood. Years ago, he'd lost a partner to a suspect's bullet. "We really should be getting back to New York, Eames," he said quietly.

Eames looked at the badge in her hand, then turned her face toward the sea, looking toward the eastern horizon. After a long moment, she looked at Lester. "The search...?"

"We've moved it north, but..." He shook his head. "Chances are we will not find either of them."

"Will you keep looking?"

"For awhile, yes. But I should tell you, if either of them went into the water injured...there are sharks...tiger sharks, mako sharks, the occasional great white...and jellyfish, which can deliver a toxic sting that would be dangerous to a person in a weakened condition...and then there's the risk of exposure and hypothermia, which increases with the amount of time in the water...I just want you to be aware...to have realistic expectations. The likelihood that we will find your partner, alive, are...well, they're not good..."

"I realize that, Lester. I just want to be absolutely certain we give him every chance."

Lester nodded. "I understand." He hesitated. "Um, there is one other possibility...if he was caught in a riptide...it may have carried him away from shore...We put a spotter plane up in the air, but so far, they haven't seen anything. I don't know what else to do. It's a mighty big ocean, detective."

"I understand that. All I'm asking is that we give him the benefit of the doubt. He's my partner, and I owe him that."

Lester nodded. "I'll see that we do."

She watched the young cop walk away and again looked at the badge in her hand. Ross quietly said, "Eames...do you want to stay?"

"I do...but I think it's more important for me to get home, to see Denise. Bobby would want me to take care of her for him." She slipped the badge into her jacket pocket to give to Denise. Her heart went out to the woman. As much as she hurt, she realized that Denise was even closer to Bobby, and her pain would be worse. Remembering how she'd felt when Joe died, she could understand Denise's grief, which she imagined would be compounded by the recent difficulties that had plagued Bobby's life and strained his relationships with everyone.

As she followed Ross from the beach, she took the opportunity to look out across the ocean one last time. The vast and restless sea...the final resting place for a man with a heart and spirit as big as it was.

* * *

Denise pushed her food around her plate, not feeling hungry at all. The doctors planned to release her in the morning, but what was she going to do? Her mind returned to the previous weekend, when Bobby had turned up at her door, desperate for reassurance that she had not quit on him, that he had not driven all the love from her heart. It had been a very good weekend, and he had gone a long way toward restoring her faith in him. Whatever it was that had taken hold of him during his mother's final months was finally loosening its grip and he was returning from wherever it was he had gone. The bitter anger was gone, even if the pain was not. But the pain she could deal with, and in time, it would ease. She knew how to help him move past his pain. 

They had made plans to have dinner Friday night, and she had every intention of telling him she wanted to take him back. She was ready to give their marriage another try if he was. She had certainly never stopped loving him. With her mind's eye, she saw him across the table, a man who loved simple things, like frosted flakes, who was fascinated with the world and faced it with an insatiable curiosity and a deep desire to understand...a man whose shy, boyish grin hid a damaged soul and a wounded heart. It had taken a long time for him to begin to reveal to her the part of himself he saw as damaged goods. When she didn't reject him immediately, he took a chance and revealed a little more. Instead of driving her away, as he anticipated, she sought to get closer. His heart, she knew, was a fragile thing, and it took years before he would trust her with it. Once past the barriers, she found a loving man, gentle and passionate, and she found it impossible not to love him. To this day, she saw in him an incredulity that she had actually managed to reach the core of who he was and she still loved him.

Beyond his insecurity and the endearing little boy qualities she saw in his excitement and awe of the world around him, she found a powerful man who felt emotion strongly and loved with a passion that took her breath away. But as much as she missed his skills as a lover, she found that what she missed most were the times that followed the passion. It was then that he held her close and talked to her. Beyond the stress and the hectic pace of their lives, those quiet moments were the times when they really connected. It was in moments like that she found her heart brimmed over with love for the gentle man he had become in spite of an upbringing that had turned his brother into a drug addict. In every aspect of his life, Bobby had beaten the odds, until the very end, when he gambled against the ocean and he lost.

With a soft sob, she pushed away her tray and turned onto her side, softly crying tears she didn't think she had left. Her heart would never be whole again.

* * *

Marty Newsome and his brother Henry loved the incoming tide. Their favorite game to play with the ocean was tag. They would run toward the sea, then scramble away when the waves came back to get them, laughing. They chased the crabs that were washed onto the beach and abandoned by the incoming waves, and they watched the pulsating jellyfish that got stranded on the shore. They had lived in Quitnesset, on the south end of Cape Cod, all their lives. They had grown up with the sea. Now ten and twelve, they were both accomplished sailboaters, swimmers and fishermen. Their mother sold real estate; their father had died in a boating accident two years ago. They still missed him. 

Henry stopped to poke at a jellyfish while Marty looked down the beach. Days like this were among their favorites. The seas had been rough last night and everything from driftwood to jellyfish had washed ashore during the night. Several weeks earlier, they had found a nautilus shell, a rare find since the nautilus was an inhabitant of the open ocean and rarely found on shore. Undamaged shells almost never made it to a beach like theirs, bordered by barrier islands that created rough surf for fragile shells.

"Henry? Look at that..."

Henry stood up and look down the beach in the direction his brother was pointing. He rubbed his head. "Is that a person?"

"Come on."

They ran down the beach toward the shape in the sand, both sliding to a stop beside the body on the beach. The man was on his stomach and the surf was already crashing down on his legs. Marty touched his cheek. "His skin's cold. He's been in the ocean."

"Is he dead?"

The older boy leaned his head down to the man's face, relieved to find a whisper of warm breath coming from his mouth and nose. "No, but the tide's gonna take him back out and then he will be. Go get Uncle Tanner and Uncle Morrie. Fast. I'll stay here with him."

The younger boy scurried away, and Marty sat beside the man. He searched his pockets, looking for identification, finding an empty holster on his left hip but no wallet. In his front pocket, he found a switchblade, which he examined with fascination. The blade was razor sharp and he cut his finger with it. Retracting the blade, he slipped it into his pocket to hand over later to one of his uncles.

Nervously, he watched as the unsettled surf crashed over the man's hips. The tide came in quickly. Realizing that the man might drown if the tide came in any further, he used all the strength and leverage he could muster to turn him onto his back. "Hurry, Henry," he muttered.

* * *

Henry ran down the beach ahead of his uncles, who jogged after him. By the time he got to where his brother was with the man they had found, the tide had come in far enough to reach the stranger's head. After turning him onto his back, Marty had squirmed his body beneath the head and shoulders of the unconscious man and managed to lift his head high enough to keep it out of the encroaching water, but he couldn't stop the waves that occasionally broke over them both. 

Tanner and Morrie took charge of the man from their nephew, praising his resourcefulness. The stranger was a big man, but Morrie and Tanner were both powerful, if not tall, men. They managed to carry him to Tanner's home, not far away, with little difficulty. Tanner's wife, Starr, was a physician, and she happened to be at home.

The two boys stood off to the side by the living room window, watching their aunt examine the man their uncles had laid on the couch. Slowly she shook her head. "He needs to be in the hospital. I can't do anything for him here. I'm going to call an ambulance." She looked at her husband. "There was no identification on him?"

Tanner shook his head. "No."

Marty watched his aunt place the phone call for an ambulance and then lay another blanket on the stranger. Deeply unconscious, the man did not move; he barely breathed. Remembering the knife, Marty shoved his hand in his pocket to retrieve it. "Here, Uncle Tanner. I found this in his pocket."

Tanner took the knife and frowned. "A switchblade? These are illegal."

Starr shook her head. "Not for paramedics, firefighters and police officers."

Tanner studied the sharp blade and slowly nodded his head. As a hobby, he made knives. "I'll clean this up for him. The salt water will damage it if I don't."

Starr looked at her two nephews and said, "Why don't you boys go outside and watch for the ambulance?"

The boys scrambled from the room and she looked at her husband and his brother. Tanner scratched his arm. "You think he has a chance?"

"A chance? Yes. How much of one? I don't know. He may have been in the ocean or on the beach all night, maybe longer. He's suffering from hypothermia. And he has a head injury, probably from hitting the side of a boat or coastal rocks. There's a rattle in his chest as well; he probably inhaled sea water. If he'd been on that beach much longer, there would be no helping him."

Morrie nodded. "That tide woulda washed him back to sea. Then he woulda been shark bait."

Tanner shook his head. "It's a wonder he wasn't to start with. There were three shark attacks this last month, not to mention the four we had over the summer. We just been lucky nobody got killed by that beast yet."

Starr had been studying the man's still, pale face. "I'll go to the hospital with him. We have no way of knowing who he is until he wakes up."

She didn't take her worried eyes from him, wondering if they would be able to do anything for him. She had her doubts, which she kept to herself. Time would tell.


	10. Returned to Them

The sensation of fingers being drawn across her flesh heated her skin and she groaned softly, turning in the bed. Nestling her face into the pillow, she drew in his scent and rolled toward him, her arm settling over empty air, which woke her. It took a moment for her to realize where she was and why she was alone. She felt more profoundly alone than she ever had before in her life and she softly sobbed. "Denise?"

The voice came from the hallway and she sat up, wiping her eyes. "Come in, Alex."

The door opened and Eames came into the room. When Denise was released from the hospital, Alex had insisted she come home with her, at least for a few days, to recuperate and to find some way to cope with their loss, together. Sitting on the edge of the bed, Eames studied the kind, soft-spoken woman who had married her partner. "Nightmare?"

Denise shook her head. "No. But just as bad."

"I've been in your shoes, you know. My husband was also killed in the line of duty, nine years ago."

She nodded. "Bobby told me. He felt bad about reopening Joe's case. But he...he cannot leave any question unanswered. He always has to search for the answers...the right answers. He doesn't always like what he finds, but he sleeps better when he knows he's done the right thing."

Eames recognized the present tense she used when referring to Bobby, and she understood. It had taken months before she'd been able to talk about Joe using the past tense. And losing her partner, she found, was no easier. "Right and wrong," she said softly. "He has very clear views of right and wrong."

"Uncompromising. It really hurt Kenny Moran to watch Sang walk free. He was livid."

"I can imagine."

"And he didn't want to hear the argument that Bobby was right, that we needed to find the person who actually was responsible for Kevin's death. Ken never forgave him for that. And I think he's still irritated with me for defending Bobby."

"He'll get over it."

"He will now." She looked at her hands. "He isn't sorry about the way this turned out. Alex...I'm not sure I can keep working for Kenny now."

"Only you can make that decision.."

"He was...appalled...to learn I'd married him. He's come to really dislike Bobby over the last few years, and I'm not sure why." Tears filled her eyes. "When he heard that he was probably dead...he actually smiled. How can someone be that way?"

"Face it, Denise. One way or the other, people reacted to Bobby with strong emotion. But he had few friends on the force."

"I know."

Eames took her hand and held it tightly. "Try to sleep."

Denise nodded, and Eames got to her feet, leaving the room. Denise slid down under the blanket and couldn't hold the tears back any longer. Quietly, she cried herself to sleep.

* * *

Starr Newsome stood in the doorway of the room, watching her comatose patient. She was tired of thinking of him as 'John Doe,' and the night before she had gotten the idea of having the local police run his fingerprints. Ted Cunningham had come over from the station and collected the prints, warning that it was a long shot, unless the man had a criminal record or worked in law enforcement or some other security field. Starr felt it was worth a shot. Somewhere, she was certain, this man had to have family that cared about him and was wondering what had become of him. She knew that she would want to know.

Three days had passed. Several liters of warmed saline and electrolytes had treated his hypothermia and dehydration. She had treated him for stress and inhalation pneumonia and had given him a complete physical examination. She was able to attribute his prolonged unconsciousness to his head injury and severe exhaustion, which should resolve itself soon, hopefully allowing him to waken. The other injuries his body had suffered in the ocean were minor, amounting to little more than bumps and bruises. All she could do now was continue supportive care and wait. It was the waiting that was the hardest of all.

* * *

Ted Cunningham walked across the office to the fax machine and pulled off the paper that had just come in. Studying it, he let out a low whistle, grabbed his jacket and his hat, and called to the clerk, "Tammy, I'll be over at the hospital talking to Dr. Newsome about our John Doe."

She waved a hand in acknowledgment but did not look up. Cunningham climbed into his patrol car and drove off. He found Starr at the nurses' station on the medical unit where their John Doe was recovering. "Dr. Newsome, we got a hit on those prints. Guy's name is Goren. He's an NYPD detective, attached to the Major Case Squad."

She took the fax from him when he held it out. "Robert Goren...Thank you, Ted."

"Sure. Let me know if there's anything else I can do. I...I'd really like to know how he ended up in the ocean."

She nodded and said, "I'll call you later." Heading back into the small conference room off the nurses' station, she picked up the phone and made a call.

* * *

Eames was in the kitchen, fixing something to try and coax Denise to eat. She understood her depression; she was struggling with similar feelings herself. As difficult as he could be, she still loved her partner. Working with him for as long as she had, she'd come to know the heart of the man, and it was a good heart. Knowing him as she had made it easy to love him.

The phone rang and she walked to the counter, picking up the receiver. "Hello?"

_Are you busy, Eames?_

"I'm making lunch. Why, captain?"

_Is Miss Rhodes still there with you?_

"Yes."

_I'll be there in twenty minutes to pick you both up. We're going to Hyannis, Massachusetts._

"Massachusetts? What for?"

_They found your partner. He's in a coma in the hospital there. Be ready._

The line went dead and she stared at the receiver. What had he said? Found him? Alive? Her knees suddenly went weak and she slid to the floor, trembling. That was where Denise found her a few minutes later. Dropping to her knees beside her, she laid a gentle hand on her shoulder, her voice filled with concern. "Alex? Are you all right?"

Eames looked at the receiver that was still in her hand, now loudly protesting not being hung up. Slowly, she got to her feet and replaced the receiver. "Captain Ross just called, Denise. He's on his way over to pick us up. They...they found Bobby in Massachusetts."

Denise's face paled. "They...oh, my God..."

Eames gently grabbed her shoulders and looked into her pale face. "He's not dead. He's in a coma, but he's still alive. Get dressed. Ross will be here soon."

They would have time to reflect on what this meant on the flight to Hyannis. Right now, they each clung to one thought: he was alive.

* * *

Starr was writing in a chart in front of her when three people approached the nurses' station late that afternoon. Looking up, she found herself meeting a pair of sharp green eyes in a rugged, masculine face. He was accompanied by two women, their faces a mixture of concern and apprehension. "May I help you?"

The man tipped his head to read her name tag. "Dr. Newsome?"

"Yes."

"I'm Danny Ross. We talked earlier about Detective Goren."

"Yes," she said, rising to her feet. "I am so glad you could make the trip, captain."

"This is Denise Rhodes, Detective Goren's wife, and Detective Eames, his partner."

Shaking hands in greeting, Starr said, "My nephews found him on the beach Saturday morning. Do you have any idea when he went into the ocean?"

Eames nodded. "Thursday night."

"The tide would have brought him in Friday night." She nodded slowly, her brain making quick calculations. "That explains a lot. I figured he had to have been in the water more than twelve hours. He's a very lucky man. Something out there saved his life because he would have lost consciousness fairly quickly. He suffered a head injury and I've treated him for hypothermia, dehydration, exhaustion, stress and pneumonia."

"You said he's in a coma," Ross mentioned.

"Yes. But he's recovering. His heart has recovered and his last EKG was normal. His pneumonia is improving, but he is still too deeply unconscious to trigger his cough reflex. His latest bloodwork is much improved and his fever is slowly coming down. Right now he's stable. Come with me; I'll take you to him."

She led them to a room down the hall, where she stopped and turned to them. "He looks much better than he did when we brought him in. He would not have lasted much longer if the boys had not found him."

Pushing the door open, she held it for them. Ross hung back while the two women walked to the bedside. Eames hesitated at his waist and waited while Denise approached the head of the bed, her cheeks moist with silent tears. "Look at you," she said softly, reaching out to touch his cheek.

Caressing his cheek with her fingertips, she leaned down and softly kissed his lips. Turning her head, she motioned to Eames. Silently, she stepped closer, stopping near his shoulder. Denise slipped her hand into his, and Eames did the same on the opposite side of the bed. Slowly, she shook her head as she studied her partner's still face. "What am I going to do with you, Goren?" she said quietly, struggling to keep her voice from breaking. After a moment, she said, "I have never seen him so still."

Denise slowly shook her head. "Not often," she whispered.

Quietly, Ross said, "I'm going to get us rooms for the night. I'll be back."

He headed for the door, but Eames called him back. "Captain?" When he turned to look at her, she said, "Thank you."

With a nod and a small smile of encouragement, he continued out the door.

* * *

Late the next morning, Ross returned to New York, certain that Goren was stable and Eames and Denise were all right. Starr Newsome brought food for them from home, and Eames assured him she would call him when anything changed. It was not too long before she was able to keep her promise.

The two women left the hospital at the same time each night, but Denise always returned during the night sometime. Eames always found her by his side each morning. Joe had not lasted this long after being shot, but she had stayed by his side, so she understood how Denise felt. She could tell by the haunted look in her eyes that she was afraid something bad would happen in her absence, that he would slip away and she would not get to say good-bye. That was a fear Eames was not willing to face. She forced herself to be optimistic. He was going to be all right. He had to be.

* * *

_Consciousness came and went. He was not aware of his delirium, and yet he was. Every breath was a struggle and every time the water closed in over his head he felt panic rise. Before it could take hold, his head broke through the surface and he could take another breath. His cough was deep and he could not control the trembling of his muscles. A brief thought touched his mind...and the ocean closed over his head again. He was submerged longer this time, and he did not return to the surface on his own. Something beneath the water bumped him upwards until his head once again broke through into daylight. He could not force his eyes to focus, but he looked around anyway. He saw nothing but ocean...and a slick, streamlined body in the water beside him. Another one circled in the water by his other side. He knew...but he couldn't bring the identification into his mind. He was losing his grip on consciousness, drifting away and slowly coming back, for briefer and briefer periods of time. The two sea creatures were there every time he woke, buoying him to the surface and pressing him on, presumably toward land. He gave himself over to their care and finally, he let go. He could no longer maintain his tenuous grip on consciousness. Two images floated before him in the darkened sky. He was seeing things. He had little time left before the sea would claim another life. But the last images that would touch his delirious mind were those of his partner and his wife. It was only for them he had held on as long as he had, and it was to them his final thoughts drifted. 'I'm sorry...'_

* * *

He coughed, a deep, rasping sound, and struggled against the water, surprised to meet no resistance. What was happening? How did he end up back in...air? He coughed again and shivered. Something touched his face and he jumped, trembling again. He heard words, but they did not register in his fevered mind. Struggling to open his eyes, he left darkness behind, squinting into the light and coughing again. A hand...that's what caressed his forehead and his cheek. A gentle, familiar touch. "Denise?" he whispered, surprised at how hoarse his voice sounded.

He raised a hand to touch her cheek. Moisture? She...she was crying. _No..._ "Don't cry," he managed.

Slowly, his eyes focused and he was finally able to make out her face. Pale, tear streaked, worried... He moistened his lips and flattened his hand against the side of her face. A dull ache muffled his head, and his brain felt wrapped in cotton, but it was clearing, although more slowly than his vision did. He shifted in the bed, and his muscles were sore but he didn't really hurt. Every time he coughed, his chest burned and his head throbbed dully, but there was little pain in his body. Nothing he could not manage. His eyes strayed past her, around the room. A hospital room...and beyond the windows, it was dark. He had not dreamed any of it. Every moment of it had been real. "Denise?"

"I'm right here, baby," she whispered, and now his mind could translate the sounds into words.

Pushing himself up higher in the bed, he reached an arm toward her, drawing her into a hug. He felt the tremor of a sob shake her and he tightened his arms around her. Slowly, the events that had led up to this moment came to the surface and he leaned his head to the side, brushing her cheek with his lips. "Are you all right?" he asked softly.

She hesitated for a moment, unwilling to leave the warmth of his embrace, then she pulled back and stared at him. "Am _I_ all right?"

He looked confused. "Yes...I left you, with Alex...in that..."

She pressed her fingers against his lips, silencing him. "That was a cakewalk compared to how I felt when we thought we had lost you. I am fine now. You're the one who went into the ocean. How did that happen?"

He settled back against the pillows and coughed. She cringed at the sound of the rattle deep in his chest. With a sigh he shrugged. "I...I don't know how it happened. Has...has she turned up?"

"I don't think so. She has a thing for you, you know."

He nodded and looked away with a frown. "I never encouraged that."

"I never thought you did."

She rested her hand on his chest and gently rubbed. When he coughed again, she could feel the rattle in his chest and she cringed again. Shifting closer, she moved her hand to his cheek, caressing warm skin. Leaning over, she kissed him gently, then continued to stroke his forehead and his cheek until he drifted back to sleep. This time she knew that he wasn't going to slip beyond her reach; he was simply asleep. Reassured, she sat in the chair beside his bed, rested her head against his arm and let herself also sleep.

* * *

Denise was awake when Eames came in after breakfast. She shook her head and smiled, but she could not blame her for being here. If Joe had survived, she would have done the same thing and remained at his bedside. "How is he?" she asked when Denise looked in her direction.

"Better. He woke up during the night. Dr. Newsome is certain he'll be fine."

"What do you think?"

"He was lucid. He seemed like himself."

"That's all I wanted to hear. Did he tell you how he ended up going off the end of the jetty?"

She shook her head. "He doesn't know how it happened. He did ask if she's turned up. She hasn't, has she?"

"No. But I don't trust her. She's like a cat and she hasn't used up her nine lives yet. I keep hoping she was shark bait, but this annoying little voice at the back of my mind tells me she's not done torturing him yet."

The voices roused him and he stirred, again coughing deeply. Slowly he opened his eyes and, seeing both women there, he smiled. First his eyes sought his wife's, then his partner's. "Hi, Eames."

"Hi, yourself. Have a nice swim?"

"Not really."

She smiled. "You gave us one hell of a scare, Bobby."

"I didn't mean to..."

"Just don't do it again, please."

"I'll try not to."

She walked to his side and leaned over to lightly kiss his cheek. "She did not handle it well at all," she whispered into his ear.

When she straightened away from him, he met her eyes again, then looked at Denise. "I'm sorry," he said softly before looking away. He never meant to hurt them, but it seemed like that was what he always managed to do. The two women looked at each other, then back at him. They both knew him well enough to know what his apology meant.

Denise stood up from the chair and reached out to run her fingers lightly through his hair. "There is always a price to pay whenever you love another person, you know. And in spite of what you think, the price I pay is very small." She looked at Eames. "What do you think, Alex?"

"He doesn't give me half the trouble he gives you. I'm good."

He looked from one to the other. It was clear from the expression on his face that he did not agree, but he was not inclined to argue with either of them. He recognized it was not an argument he would ever win, and he settled back, closing his eyes. Fingers stroked the side of his face in a light caress a moment before a set of warm, soft lips pressed against his. He raised a hand to cradle her face and relaxed.

Drawing back, Denise smiled at him. "So, think you can try to eat something?"

"I don't know," he replied, another cough rattling his chest.

She walked to the tray table at the foot of the bed, returning with a small plastic cup. "You like jello," she coaxed.

Again, he considered arguing but it wasn't worth it. He took the cup and made them both happy by taking a few bites. Then he began feeling sick to his stomach, and he handed it back with a weary shake of his head. His breathing became a little more labored as he fought against his sick stomach and spinning head. Rolling onto his side, he grasped her hand and closed his eyes.

As he drifted off, his breathing eased once more and she kissed his temple. Eames gave her a reassuring smile. "It'll take a little while for him to get back on his feet."

Denise nodded. "I know it will. But at least he _will_ get back on his feet. I don't care about survivor's benefits, Alex. I would rather have him."

"I agree. Bobby makes life interesting."

Denise smiled. "That's an understatement." Reaching out, she toyed with the hair that curled at his temple. Pressing a kiss to the side of his forehead, she whispered, "I love you."

At the edge of sleep, he heard her, and mumbled a reply. "Love you, too..."

Eames watched and listened, and her heart warmed. Initially jealous of this woman's place in Goren's life, she now felt nothing but gratitude toward her. He deserved a chance at real happiness, and he found it in Denise. In her own way, she loved him, with the steadfast heart of a friend. It was a heart that would never waver.


	11. Plans For Their Future

_Under water...struggling to breathe...each suffocating breath more of an effort than the one before..._

He bolted upright in the bed, coughing and breathing hard. Immediately cool hands stroked his warm face and a soft voice calmed him. He fell back against the pillows, coughing deeply, still struggling to breathe. "Shhh," she whispered. "Relax, baby."

He struggled against a feeling of vertigo that continued making him sick to his stomach. Something touched his face, just under his nose and he started to twist away from it, until she held his face and said, "Easy...you knocked this off. It will help you breathe, Bobby. Calm down."

He stopped struggling, allowing the cannula to be set back in place. After a few minutes, the vertigo eased as oxygen flowed freely into his congested lungs. "Denise?" he whispered hoarsely.

"Right here."

He felt her hand slide into his and he tightened his fingers around hers, lightly stroking the side of her hand with his thumb. "Eames?" he asked uncertainly, wondering if she was still there.

A light touch on his other arm. "I'm here, Bobby," she said.

With effort, he opened his eyes, squinting at the two women, each in turn. Adjusting his position in the bed, he found a fairly comfortable spot, waiting for a coughing spell to pass. Fingers raked gently through his sweat-dampened hair._ Denise..._ He sought her eyes and in their depths he saw emotion that had been missing over the past year. As he continued to hold her gaze, the emotion did not evaporate. It was not the worry he found there that surprised him, nor even the love. There was something more tenuous that had been missing for so long he had not even realized it was gone. He couldn't quite pin down what it was, but he felt a weight lift from his heart that he had not realized was there. When she leaned in and brushed her lips across his, he felt a fine tremor course through his muscles. The fingers of her free hand stroked his cheek.

With effort, he turned his head toward the other side of the bed, where his partner watched the tender interaction between husband and wife. Her hand still rested on his arm and she squeezed it when he looked at her. He was not afraid to meet her eyes. "Thank you, Eames."

His voice was still hoarse, but it was stronger. She was confused by his gratitude. "For what?"

"For being...supportive."

She smiled at him, understanding that he was grateful that she watched out for his wife when he could not. "That's what friends do," she replied.

_Friends... _he had been a horrible one lately, he knew, but he pushed that thought and the grief it brought to the back of his mind for the moment. He had more questions he wanted answered. "Um...Wallace?"

She shook her head. "Nothing."

He coughed again, covering his mouth with the sleeve of his left arm. Both women still cringed at the prominent rattle of mucous deep in his chest. A sheen of sweat coated his face and he took a few deep breaths, followed by more coughing. When his chest finally settled, he looked back at Eames, and he wondered if he still had a job. "Ross?"

"He's gone back to New York."

"Back?"

"Yes. He flew up here with us."

Goren's brows knitted together. "Why?"

"You'll have to ask him that." She studied him for a moment. "Ross likes you, Bobby...and he respects you."

He looked skeptical and turned back toward Denise. He would let Eames think whatever she wanted; he had no energy to debate. "Are you...all right?"

"Yes. I'm fine."

"Not hurt?"

"No. She didn't hurt me."

He released her hand and raised his hand to stroke the side of her face, weaving his fingers through her hair. "I...can't lose you," he murmured. The truth of that statement had hit him hard when she was missing.

"You won't, baby. I'm not going anywhere."

He kept his eyes on hers. "Promise?"

Leaning in, she kissed him. "I promise."

When she rested her cheek against the side of his head, he closed his eyes. Her voice whispered past his ear. "I love you," was all she said. It was all he needed to hear.

* * *

Goren recovered quickly from the time he spent in the ocean. His body fought off the pneumonia and the fever went with it. His lungs healed, and he was released from the hospital after a week, once he no longer needed oxygen support.

He went home, and by mutual consent, they decided Denise would move into his apartment with him. Even though her apartment had been cleaned, she found herself unable to stay there, even with Goren there with her. She kept the place for her brother, who was going to move to the city as soon as he graduated from Dartmouth and had no idea what had happened to her there. Then he would take over the lease and the rent.

The night Goren got the okay to return to work, he and Denise discussed their future over dinner. "Denise, how certain are you that you want to spend the rest of your life with me?"

"What kind of question is that?"

"A legitimate one. I mean, I really don't blame you for leaving me..."

She stared at her plate for a long moment. "Bobby, that was meant as a wake-up call. I wanted you to take a good look at what was important in your life. It kind of backfired on me when all I succeeded in doing was driving you away. I asked for a divorce because I thought it was what you wanted. I was tired of fighting with you and wondering if I'd made a big mistake."

"Marrying me?"

"Yes. We were so much closer before we got married."

"That was circumstantial," he said softly. "My mother...well, you know...everything in my life started and ended there. Everything began to unravel...I never wanted to lose you, but I had no idea how to fix it once you left."

"Talking to me was a good place to start. It took you months to get to that point. You have no idea how hard it was for me to leave you, but I just couldn't take it. You were getting more and more angry, and I couldn't reach you any more."

"Losing my mother was hard enough for me. Losing you, too, was more than I could take."

"Well, you're not going to lose me, all right? We'll work it out. I know what it's like to live without you, and I don't like it at all."

"Tomorrow, we'll go back to work and everything will get back to normal," he said, hope in his voice, and he waited for her to agree with him.

She didn't say anything at first. Finally, she said, "I don't know if I want to keep working, Bobby."

He frowned. "Why not?"

"Because I can't forgive Kenny for what he did. I'm not sure I can work for him any more, knowing how much he doesn't like you."

"He's never really liked me. Come on, Denise. Don't toss your career because of me."

"Career? I'm his assistant. He can get another one. I can think of something I would much rather do with the rest of my life."

He sighed impatiently. "What's that?"

"I want to start a family."

That caught him off-guard. "A...family? W-with me?"

"Of course with you, silly. I'm not getting any younger, you know. If I'm going to have a baby, it's got to be soon."

"Baby..." He ran the thought over in his mind. "M-my baby...?"

"Is there a problem?"

"There may be, yes. You do realize that I carry a genetic predisposition to schizophrenia, don't you? Not to mention the strong history of addiction in my family...I..I don't know..."

"We can talk to a genetic counselor before we decide. Don't rule it out off the cuff. I've given it a lot of thought. I love you, and I have no intention of leaving you. I think it's time, at least to lay the groundwork."

"I'll go to the counselor with you," he agreed. "We can weigh the risks. But if the chance is too great..."

"Then we can adopt. I want to be a mother, Bobby, and you will be a wonderful father. I've worked my entire adult life, and I want this more than any career." She touched his hand and lightly caressed his palm. "Please..."

"You don't have to work if you don't want to." He studied her hand where her fingers stroked his skin. "If it's what you want..." he swallowed before finishing, "...we can look into it..."

When he looked up, she met his eyes, a soft glow filling hers. "I love you," she said softly.

He nodded and raised her hand to his mouth, kissing it gently. "I love you, too."

* * *

The following morning, they went into work, parting in the elevator when it arrived on the eleventh floor. Goren was not looking forward to the fallout when the chief received his wife's letter of resignation, but she had made up her mind. He'd spent a sleepless night, his mind busy stumbling over all the possible things that could go wrong if he fathered a child. But Denise had slept peacefully, content with the compromise they had made. A genetic counselor was a good start, he had to admit, and she was willing to adopt, but he was still conflicted. He would give her anything she wanted, though, so he was resigning himself to the fact that they were going to become parents, one way or another.

Sitting at his desk, he picked up an envelope that sat in the center of it, addressed to him. Absently, he slid the envelope open and removed the single folded piece of paper it contained. The words that were written on it sent a chill through his body:

_Dear Bobby, _

_I see that you lived to grapple with me another day. You never know when I'll turn up, or what new torment I will unleash upon you. I enjoyed the time I spent with your wife. She's a real gem, Bobby. Treasure her._

_Fondly yours,  
Nicole_

Eames had predicted that Wallace had become shark bait. Wishful thinking. He would not have been that lucky. No, Nicole Wallace had survived, as he had survived. It wasn't over, and it never would be, as long as one of them lived. He looked up as his partner got off the elevator and his hand tightened around the paper, crumpling it. He had no intention of letting Nicole win.

Eames slid into her chair, smiling when she noticed the framed picture that he'd placed on his desk. She nodded at it. "Good idea," she said as she pulled the coffee he'd left on her desk toward her and took a sip.

He handed the paper to her, his face remaining grim. Her smile faded into a dark frown and she handed the paper back to him. "She'll be back," she said.

He didn't answer. Smoothing the page, he returned it to its envelope and slid it into a drawer. His eyes were drawn to the picture of his wife, and his gut tightened at the thought that Nicole Wallace was still a threat to her. He looked across the desks at his partner, and felt the same surge of anxiety. "She's not going to win, Eames."

"No, Bobby. She's not. We won't let her."

He propped his elbow on the desk and pinched the bridge of his nose. She was out there, watching his life through a microscope and plotting his undoing. It was a long, bitter war with no end in sight...but he was not going to yield. He would win this war, or he would die trying.


End file.
